


Almost Human

by oliverthelongfurby



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Distortion Gerad Keay, Elias Bouchard is there but only for a few sentences bc I fucking hate him, M/M, No beta we go into artifact storage like Sasha, dont worry now sarah carpenter owns my entire heart, i deadass forgot sarah carpenter existed while writing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28247415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverthelongfurby/pseuds/oliverthelongfurby
Summary: An AU where Gerry gets taken by the spiral instead of Michael
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 26
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! While thinking about what to write a couple of days ago, I thought, huh, wouldn't it be wild if Gerry was the distortion instead of Michael? So that is what I am doing! It is going to be quite fun, even if the plot will probably inevitably crumble just like everything I have ever and will ever write has. I will try my best to get a chapter out once a week, however with this mental illness and my procrastination, I am not optimistic.  
> This story is going to follow the basic timeline of TMA, so I would advise against reading it, if I ever finish it, if you have not finished TMA.  
> He/They for Michael.  
> CW for panic attacks and depression

August seventeen, 2016

The apartment always felt too big.   
It had been Michael’s before, but he’d gotten used to Gerry there, whether Gerry was actually living there, or just coming in all the time.  
Michael remembered how Gerry had started coming around for dinner when he learned that Michael could cook. He remembered how he’d tried to teach Gerry to cook, but how Gerry had always been afraid that he was going to burn himself. Michael remembered how he’d thought it was sort of funny that someone as tough as Gerry was afraid of the stove, but he didn’t push it.  
But now Gerry was gone, and Michael was alone in the apartment.  
It wasn’t even that big, a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room that he’d converted into a guest room on the rare occasions that his family decided to stay over.   
It probably didn’t help that Michael didn’t really want to get rid of Gerry’s stuff. Yes, they should probably get rid of some of it, like the clothes of Gerry’s Michael had that didn’t fit him.  
He did try, once, to get rid of all of it, promised himself that he wouldn’t stop until it was done, but then he found a shirt that Michael had given Gerry as a present once, and he broke down crying.  
As Michael was thinking about this, which he knew he did far too much, his dog walked in. A sweet yellow lab named Sunflower that he’d adopted with Gerry two years before his death.  
It had been five years since then, and now Sunflower was getting old, being about eight years old now. Michael didn’t like to think about that, though.  
“Yeah, hold on buddy, we’ll go on a walk in a minute.” Michael stood up from his desk, where he was finishing signing off some bills. He had to leave for work in a couple of minutes, anyway.  
Michael leashed Sunflower and stepped out the door. They’d been lucky to get a pet friendly apartment, especially one where the rent wasn’t absolutely outrageous. Michael took Sunflower around their block, filled up the food bowl, and set off to work.  
The Magnus Institute had different energy from when Michael had originally been working there. Sure, he was still an archival assistant, and most of the people who had been working there were the same, but other than that most things were different.  
For one thing- everything was more chaotic.  
When Michael had started working there, Miss Robinson would meticulously put everything in place. But towards the end, right before her death, it wasn’t a priority for her anymore. In fact, it seemed to be quite the opposite. She’d purposely put statements back in the wrong places, hide tape recordings in the strangest places when she was done with them (Michael found one behind the office Christmas tree the last Christmas she’d been there), and would get mad at Michael for trying to keep everything in order.  
It had been frustrating, being the last Archival assistant. It had been easier when he’d had Emma and the others. Michael was never quite sure what happened to them, and any attempt to ask would lead to Miss Robinson quickly changing the subject. He’d never really cared enough to dig deeper, figuring it was probably family matters or something else personal, but when Gerry had died and Miss Robinson had still refused to give him any details, Michael realised something was probably a lot more fucked up than he’d realised. Of course, he never got the opportunity to confirm his suspicions, and she was dead now.  
The new Archivist, John, was trying his best to keep everything in order. To be honest, Michael wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten the job. He seemed like a smart enough fellow, even if he was unpleasant, but he’d only been working in the archives as a researcher for two years when he was assigned. Michael’s personal pick would have been Sasha James, considering how experienced she was.  
Having her be an archival assistant was the next best thing, he supposed.  
The archivist anarchists, as Tim had named their group chat, was another huge change to the place.  
Emma had been friendly, if not constantly rushing into danger, but the rest of the people that had worked during Miss Robinson’s time had been apathetic at best and downright unpleasant at worst. Not that Michael would ever say so. He was a pretty non confrontational person, to be honest.  
Tim was pretty bright though, in intelligence and personality, while Sasha was always pretty kind. Martin was sort of shy, but he was pretty friendly and, on Michael’s really bad days, would bring him lunch. It helped that he’d already known Sasha, and Sasha had already known the others.  
Michael walked into the institute, which was in it’s usual state of office hum combined with supernatural spookiness. It was a description Sasha had come up with, which Michael thought suited it pretty well.  
Michael walked past Rosie at the front desk, who was staring into nothing, as usual. Michael liked Rosie well enough, but she usually spent most of her shifts staring out the window, which was normal, considering it was rare that the archives even got a single statement in a day.  
Michael walked into the office he shared with the rest of the archivist anarchists, and stared at his desk.  
It was covered in sticky notes, listing tasks for them to do, which Michael had been using as a way to stay more organized. However, because Michael didn’t have the neatest of handwriting, it was just a desk covered in a bunch of sticky notes.   
He sighed and sat down. He remembered well enough what he was doing yesterday, and worst came to worst, he had to ask John what was on the agenda. Which would be pretty terrible, but his social anxiety would just have to deal with it.  
“Goooooooooood morning, human highlighter!” Sasha walked in and dropped her bag on the floor with a loud bang.  
Michael rubbed his temples. He’d really have to invest in some good earbuds. “I told you not to call me that.”  
“What decade are we wearing clothes from today?”  
Michael snorted. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stay serious for long. “The 70s, I think. I got it from a thrift store.”  
“Ah, the gay congregation,” Tim responded from his desk.  
“I shop at the thrift store!” Martin sniped defensively.  
“Gay congregation,” Sasha and Tim said at the same time.  
“Can you guys keep it down?” John called from his office.  
“Sorry boss man,” Tim responded. Then, in a quieter, conspirtal whisper, “He shops at the thrift store.”  
“Can you guys not act like teenagers?” Michael sighed in mock exasperation.  
“Sorry, Mikey, just because you’re approaching your fifties doesn’t mean everyone else is.”  
“I’m thirty seven!”  
“Give or take a few decades,” Sasha responded.  
“Oh my god, one day you guys will burn these archives down.” Michael squinted back at his sticky notes. They were fairly certain that at least one of them said something about artefact storage.  
“What’s wrong, Mike’s Hard Lemonade? Can’t read your old man handwriting?” Tim grabbed the sticky note.   
“I do not have old man handwriting!” He grabbed it back.   
“Yours is more like discordant toddler’s,” Sasha responded.  
“Tim’s handwriting looks like someone wrote it with their mouth,” Martin said from his desk.  
Tim grabbed his chest in mock pain. “Martin, how could you expose me like this?”  
Sasha laughed. “Sorry Tim, it had to be said.”  
“Oh come on, how about this, Michael and I fight you and Martin. The group that does the best wins. I nominate our team name as team old man handwriting.” Tim rose a fist in the air.  
“No!” Sasha laughed. “Division in the archives! That’s how the eldritch horrors get you!”  
Michael chuckled. “I promise you, I’ve worked here the longest and I can safely say that   
no eldritch horrors ever got me when I fought with the others.”  
“Yeah, but what happened to them, hm?” Sasha leaned against the wall. “Perhaps you are the eldritch horror!”  
Tim snapped. “That’s it, then. Everyone against Michael.”  
Martin laughed, quickly broken off by John slamming the door to his office shut.

Michael was pretty good at getting invested in his work. He could write for hours, read hundreds of statements, and brave artefact storage alone if the topic interested him.  
Okay, that was a lie. Artefact storage was terrifying and he usually dragged Sasha with him. But that was beside the point.  
Michael was reading a statement about someone who killed vampires. To be honest, it didn't sound true to him, more like drug induced hallucinations.   
However, the parts of the statement that could be confirmed made the statement interesting enough to do follow-up on. It was even stranger because Michael actually did remember Trevor the tramp. He’d grown up in the area, and as a kid they were stopped once by the man and asked for directions. The situation wasn’t strange in itself, someone who’d gotten a little turned around in a place they didn’t know as well, but Michael remembered Trevor giving his name. I mean, only his first name, so he couldn’t be sure, but the description fit well enough.  
I mean, it’s not like they brought it up with John. John would probably mutter something about how the mind sees what it wants to see and wave them away. Which was fair enough.  
Michael stared at the map in front of him, a comparison of all of the places where the “vampires” were seen, when his head started to hurt.  
He paused his music, something by Dodie that had been suggested to them, and stepped out. They walked down the hall, watching the colors of their shirt be reflected on the tile floor, and went out the back exit.  
It was a cold and wet day, different than it had been when Michael had left the house that morning, but Michael was grateful for the cool air.  
He took a long breath, feeling the cold penetrate his lungs. They always liked to go for walks when they were anxious, the change from stale inside air to crisp outside air letting them forget out their worries for a while.  
Michael stretched out his sore limbs, feeling his joints pop.   
Your old man joints, Sasha’s voice reminded him.  
Michael was just about to go back inside, the break calming him down, when he was hit by a sudden spell of anxiety.  
He wasn’t that good at coping with anxiety attacks, usually trying not to think about them until that helpless feeling of rising nausea, combined with touches of grief and anger, went away.  
He hummed a little, stretching out his hands to try and distract himself, but of course he failed.  
The anxiety hit him like a truck. Waves of emotion rolled over him and he bit his lip to keep from crying. There was hollowness in their stomach, and all they could think about was-  
Gerry. He blamed himself for not knowing what happened. Worse, he was worried that whatever happened to Gerry was going to happen to Tim, Sasha, and Martin.  
He hadn’t told anyone about the specifics of this place.   
Smirke’s fourteen, Elias’s evil-ness, any of it. To be fair, he didn’t really know much at all, not compared to Miss Robinson and Gerry. But he still knew a lot more than anyone else, and he was keeping it a secret.  
They weren’t even sure why they still felt obliged to do it. Miss Robinson was dead, but her last instructions to him had been very clear.  
Make sure they find the tape. If they don’t find the tape, don’t tell them.  
Michael had no idea what the tape was. He’d looked for it for the past couple of months, ever since her death. At the time, a couple months before she died, Michael had dismissed it as the ramblings of an old woman. Even now, he wasn’t sure that’s not what it was. But it just seemed too convenient.  
It was like the deaths of Gerry, Emma, and Fiona and all the other associates Miss Robinson had brought in. Disappeared under strange circumstances, no real cause of death ever found, and a small funeral. Except in this case, the messenger was Elias Bouchard.  
Michael had no idea if Elias knew that he knew what he did. If Elias did not know, Michael really did not want to make him aware.   
So he stayed quiet. He did what Miss Robinson wanted him to do, what seemed safe.  
But he knew he was risking everyone else by doing so. It was a dangerous line to walk on, similar to a tightrope. And as anyone will tell you, if you don’t have enough balance, eventually you’ll fall.  
Michael leaned against the side of the building. It was wet from condensation, but he didn’t really care. Barely contained tears threatened at the edges of his eyes, and he dug his nails into his palms so hard he was sure he would have bruising.  
How would everyone react if they knew? Would they even believe them? What would they do if they did believe him? It’s not like he had any proof. A bunch of half truths he’d gotten from Miss Robinson and Gerry, as well as a tape that may or may not exist.  
He found himself wishing for the millionth time that Gerry was there. He’d be able to explain it, to show them proof, he’d know what to do.   
Michael stared at the ground, grass covered in raindrops. Focusing on the individual ones helped a little.  
He’d tried to get a therapist, once. When his anxiety from his job got so bad he could barely leave the house without breaking down. It was right before Gerry’s death, probably about a month before.  
Their therapist had been sympathetic about Gerry’s death, but kept pressing for details Michael didn’t have, and then getting annoyed when all the questions couldn’t be answered. After the session, he’d texted his therapist that he didn’t think the therapy was working and then never contacted them again. But one tip from them that had worked was to focus on the little things when life got too overwhelming. The color of the paint on the walls, the sound of the crickets, anything that wasn’t the horrifying vast-ness that anxiety can pull you down.  
After a few minutes of that, Michael rubbed their eyes, took a few deep breaths, and walked back in, hoping they looked presentable enough.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Michael discovers a weird book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw for burning, hospitals, self-deprecation

September 28th, 2005  
Michael walked through artefact storage. He walked slowly, terrified something was going to jump out behind him. They hadn’t brought anyone, due to the fact that the only person who found them tolerable, James, was home sick. There were other people that worked in artefact storage, obviously, but Michael was… not the greatest at talking to people.  
Cmon Michael, you’ve been in artefact storage tons of times. If anything was going to kill you, it would have done it a long time ago. Not the most encouraging pep talk, but it would work.  
He flicked a switch, annoyed that it wasn’t working.   
Michael huffed and grabbed a flashlight from a nearby desk. They were all over the place, used in the frequent power outages from artefact storage’s shoddy wiring. He flicked it on, pleased that at least that had decided to be useful.  
He walked through the shelves, shining the beam on objects. He’d been instructed to get a pot that Miss Robinson said was labeled with the tag 10334567 and was in section 3-G.   
He breathed in the dry air of artefact storage, appreciating how long it seemed to stretch on. Although Michael knew it wasn’t that big, it still seemed like that without someone to show you around, you would quickly get lost.  
“Alright, Haunted Vase,” Michael muttered, reaching the section Gertrude said it was in and humming to themself.  
He scanned the shelves, careful not to touch anything that wasn’t the thing he was looking for. He’d learned that something being in Artefact Storage did not necessarily mean it was safe to be near or touch.  
He squinted in frustration as he read labels over and over again. Where was the vase?  
After a moment’s hesitation, he reached into the shelves, sifting around, trying to read the labels on the items in the back.  
C’mon, it’s gotta be here somewhere.   
After a while, they accepted that it was in fact, not there.  
They sighed, willing to admit defeat. It sucked to have to go talk to people after failing a task you agreed to do for them, but alas, he would simply have to suck it up.  
He was about to turn around when something caught his eye. It was just a book, but the edges had obviously fake gold trim. He thought it was a bit amusing, so he reached over and touched the book.  
Michael noticed that the label on it was 10334567.  
Huh. That’s not right. I should tell someone.  
He grabbed the book and noticed the cover. It was written in a language he didn’t understand, but something about the words was fascinating. He flipped open the cover.  
From the Library of Jurgen Leitner, It read.  
Huh.  
Michael flipped open the book, and the words fascinated him. They were written in an unrecognizable language, impossible to understand, but they called out to him.  
They flowed over the pages, and he stood, still, and read it.  
He didn’t know how long he stood there, leaning against the shelf, as he read the strange book. It wasn’t a big one, probably not more than two hundred pages. He did know that when he looked up for the first time in what was probably a while, indicated by his aching back, he smelled burning.  
Oh, shit.  
The fire alarm wasn’t going off, even though, judging by the smoke swirling around him, there was a lot of fire.  
He wanted to run, but he was frozen in place. All he could do was watch the flames jump over all the artifacts while the smoke filled every breath as he clutched the book.  
Michael started coughing, huge, heaving gasps. He fell to his knees, the hot tile floor burning through the front of his jeans.  
No, no, no…   
His hands touched the floor, feeling the heat seep through his skin.  
They felt their skin crack, the heat touching the soft flesh underneath.  
Michael vaguely though that the book wasn’t withering like it should be.  
His clothes were burning, and he smelled burning hair as well.  
Everything hurts… help…  
Michael didn’t know what he was going on about. Who was going to help him? He was trapped. It was his fault, wasn’t it, anyway?  
He couldn’t run, he wasn’t strong enough…  
“Hello?” A voice cut through Michael’s misery.  
Michael opened his eyes and looked up. The ash stung his eyes. He knew, soon, that his skin would probably grow alight and that he’d had the most miserable death… was he already on fire? His clothes were, he knew that.  
“Oh- fuck!”   
Footsteps came down the hall, echoing as they grew closer.  
“Hey- uh- Michael! Michael!”   
Michael looked up, hearing his name. It was that one goth that worked with Miss Robinson. What was his name? Gerad?   
“Yeah uh-” Gerad coughed. Michael’s throat was raw from doing that. “-let go of the book!”  
Michael stared down at the book. He was already leaning on it. It would take too much effort to move his hand off it. His limbs were too heavy, like they had been stuffed with lead.   
“Let go of the book!” Gerad was screaming, but Michael could barely hear it over his own coughing and the ringing in his ears.  
Okay, Michael. Just let go of the book. Just lift up your fingers.  
Michael moved his fingers, wincing as the bleeding and blistered skin cracked. He couldn’t even see Gerad over the smoke anymore. Maybe he’d ran away, or been consumed by the flames himself.  
“Michael! LET GO OF THE BOOK!”  
Michael pulled his hand away, moaning at the pain of straining himself.   
There was a horrible moment of near silence. The fire crackled around Michael as he coughed. His lungs burned, his eyes stung, and his skin was stiff and aching.  
Then a fire extinguisher sprayed over him, and a hand reached through and grabbed the book.  
Michael crumbled to his side, his body groaning in protest as it hit the ground.  
There was a horrifying moment of complete silence as Michael laid in pain, too agonized to move.  
“Fuck- fuck- Gerad, did you call an ambulance?” A familiar voice, From research, Michael thought vaguely.  
“Yeah- they’ll be here in a couple minutes. They said to move him out front.” Gerad.  
Michael felt someone lift them up. They whimpered in pain as someone touched a particularly large blister on their back.  
“Sorry!” The other voice said. “How did this fire even start?”  
“Probably some drunk leaving an explosive,” Gerad responded.  
The shock of the initial blast was fading, and he felt his skin burn. He could barely breathe, and every breath that he could take was labored. His clothes were blackened and hurt against his body.  
Michael let out a choked sob as another wave of pain washed over him. He heard concerned voices all around him, asking what happened. They might have been answered, but by then, Michael felt himself drifting into an uneasy half-sleep.  
\--  
Time Unknown  
Michael slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the sting.  
He was in an unfamiliar bed, and for a moment that scared him, but he was too tired to feel any extreme emotion. He looked around the small room, realising in a longer amount of time than it should have taken that he was in a hospital.  
Ah, he thought as he slowly became aware of the IVs he was hooked up to, The fire didn’t take me out.  
His head was spinning. His whole body ached, a side effect to being set on fire, he supposed. His throat was so sore, it felt like it was still on fire.  
Water. He looked around the left side of the hospital room, taking in the closed blinds that let in too much sunlight, the pale walls that were dotted with medical equipment, and the chair. They looked down at the hospital gown, taking in all the bandages on their skin. His neck hurt too much to twist to the right side, but he had a dull realisation that he was alone in the room. Every other time he’d been in a hospital he’d been in a double room.  
After a bit, he noticed a small cup of water on a side table. He stretched over, grunting in pain as the skin stretched. When he got the water, he greedily drank it down, sighing in relief.  
He lied in the bed, being able to focus on nothing but the pain coursing through his body.  
Holy shit, Michael thought, this sucks.  
A nurse walked in, a smile on their face. “Good morning! That was quite the accident you had three days ago!”  
Michael thought that this nurse was far too cheerful for what this entailed.  
“We had you on oxygen for two days, but we’re optimistic for how you’re doing right now,” The far-too-cheerful-nurse continued, flipping through a clipboard. “Those were some pretty bad burns, but they aren’t going to scar that bad. Mostly the ones on your hands and knees. Mostly you’re in here for the smoke inhalation. We think you’ll be out in two days,” The nurse said.  
Michael looked at his empty glass. He thought about asking for more water, but his throat and mouth ached too much.  
“Your friend called an ambulance for you. Gerad Keay.” The nurse flipped through their clipboard some more, oblivious to Michael’s pain.  
“That was nice of him,” They croaked, and quickly regretted it as pain pulsed through their throat.  
“Certainly was.” The nurse was distracted, now looking at Michael’s vitals.  
“Excuse me, could I please have some more water?” The short phrase felt like sandpaper against his mouth and sent a wave of nausea through them.  
“Of course! Give me a moment.”  
The cheerful nurse scurried out, leaving Michael alone. He sighed.  
What had happened? Shit, did he burn artefact storage down? Was he going to open his phone to see a text from Miss Robinson saying that she’d see him in court? His head spun, wishing he had someone from the institute to ask.   
He flexed his fingers, wishing that their legs didn’t feel like mushy jelly so that they could run away.  
He felt his breathing start to grow faster and started running his fingers through his hair.   
What happened? Gerad had kept telling them to let go of the book. What the fuck? What did the book have anything to do with all this? Fuck, he should have just went to go report that the book was mislabled and not kept standing there. Then he wouldn’t have been caught in the fire.  
I just almost got cooked alive. Well, three days ago. Michael laughed. It was almost comical. They were such an idiot.  
I probably got fired, Michael bit their tongue. They’d set artefact storage on fire. There was no way that would ever get them a job. Maybe in anti-artefact storage. Taking artefact storage down, one accidental fire at a time.   
“God,” Michael’s voice sounded like someone was trying to grind rocks down with a rusty piece of metal. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”  
At that moment, the far too-cheerful-nurse came back in. Michael took the water, thanked them, and drank it all down. He then asked for another glass of water. This ritual continued a couple of times before the nurse informed them that they might throw up if they had more water. Michael scowled, but didn’t try to argue.  
A couple of hours later, Michael was lying awake in bed. They’d read the hospital’s shitty assortment of magazines, and now were thoroughly bored. It was only six o’ clock, but Michael was exhausted and did not care to call the nurse back.   
He stared out the window, wanting another glass of water. They had a nice view from the sixth floor of the hospital, even if what they were looking at was just more apartment buildings.  
They’d left their room once all day to use the bathroom. Their body had screamed in agony. The nurse had claimed that their burns weren’t as bad as they could have been, which was true, if there was anything Michael knew it was that injuries could always be worse, but the burns combined with the bruises and pain in their lungs had made even the ten foot trip to and from the tiny bathroom in their room terrible.  
When the nurse was talking about discharging them, they’d mentioned that Michael would probably need someone to help them out around the house. Michael had nodded, not wanting to tell the nurse that they lived alone.   
Michael still hadn’t gotten their phone. Michael didn’t have the phone on them when they’d been in the fire, but they were allowed to use a hospital phone. Being as Michael both knew nobody at work’s numbers and also he didn’t really know how to tactfully call to ask if he still was in a job, he was not sure how useful that would actually be.  
He apparently did not burn down the institute, as the newspaper he had read mentioned the archives loking for new researchers and also did not mention the institute being destroyed in a fire caused by an idiotic archival assitant.  
Michael sighed, figuring that if he wasn’t going to do anything, he might as well try to sleep.   
Which he was doing, or at least trying to do, before about thirty minutes later, the door was pushed open with a loud creak.  
Michael opened his eyes, annoyed, thinking it was the nurse again.  
It was not the nurse.  
Standing in front of Michael was Gerad.  
“Hi.” Michael’s voice hurt less to use, but was still scratchy. He was shocked at the visitor.  
“Hello, Michael.”   
They stood- well, Michael was still lying down- in awkward silence for a moment. Michael had never really gotten a good look at Gerad before. He was dotted with tattoos of eyes, which although creepy, wasn’t really the weirdest thing Micheal had encountered. He was also wearing a black jacket and ripped black skinny jeans. He had a badly-done dye job, black with blonde roots. Michael couldn’t really see Gerad’s feet from this angle, but he was pretty sure that if he could, Gerad would be wearing punk platforms. Simply fit his vibe.  
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Michael tried for a lighthearted tone, ruined by the fact that his voice cracked halfway through from a pain shooting up his leg.  
“Gertrude asked me to check up on you. That was quite the accident you had.” Gerad’s tone was flat and he stared at Michael.  
“So I’ve heard.”  
“Do you know what caused it?”  
Michael looked down at his hands. Saying The Book, sounded crazy, but he couldn’t help but feel that it was what caused the fire.  
“Nope.” Michael looked back up at Gerad, who was still watching him with the same flat expression. “Did I get fired?”  
“No.”  
Michael let out a sigh of relief.  
“Did you read it?” Gerad’s next question caught him off guard.  
“Did I- what?” Michael’s face heated up from discomfort.  
“The book.”  
There was silence for a moment, and then Michael nodded. “Only the inside cover. The rest of the book was in another language.”  
“What did the inside cover say?”  
Michael wasn’t sure why Gerad was interrogating him like this. He’d grabbed the book. Michael was sure about that.  
“From the library of Jurgen Lietner.” Michael said after a bit of hesitation.  
“Of course.” Gerad stopped looking at Michael for the first time. “How did you find it?”  
“I-it had a label that belonged to an item Miss Robinson wanted me to find. I was going to bring it and say that it was mislabeled.” Michael watched Gerad as he muttered something about Desolation bastards.  
“Alright. Well, Michael. I’ve got a little bit of advice for you.” Gerad met his eyes again, and Michael wanted to shrink away.  
“Y-yeah?” Michael looked at Gerad’s mouth, avoiding eye contact.  
“Don’t read any books that you don’t know where they came from. Especially not ones marked Leitner.” Then Gerad reached into his bag and grabbed something. “Here’s your phone. You left it on your desk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good whatever it is for you, everyone. I have no idea if this chapter makes much sense. It made sense for me, but a good chunk of it was written as I falling asleep last night. Also, because I write everything on google docs, I have just realised that thoughts are not ittaliseced. (itallisezed? itallicezed?) Whenever it switches to first person, Michael is making a thought. I apologize for the error. It is Christmas eve, so happy Christmas if you celebrate. Thank you for the nice comments on the last chapter, they are very much appreciated. Also, because I will likely forget to mention, this AU is going to follow the same timeline, however convoluted that might be, of the podcast. I may change minor details because there being a fourth archival assistant throws a wrench in some things, but, alas, nothing is perfect. Stay safe and rock on.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha comes in with concerning news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, the first chapter actually takes place in 2015, apologies for the error :-)  
> Me: I'm going to post this once a week. I'm also going to write my chapters in advance so i dont get stressed  
> Also me, whenever I finish a chapter:

March 31, 2016  
It was a bitter, cold day, even for London March.  
Michael pulled on his coat, a pale red. Gerry used to joke it was the most mild-colored thing he wore. Michael would laugh and respond that at least he didn’t wear all black with the occasional splash of purple, and then Gerry would act offended and give him a playful shove.  
They sighed, staring at a picture of Gerry on the mantel. Gerry would have looked intimidating with the eye tattoos and thick eyeliner if not for a huge grin, his eyes crinkled at the edges from it. His eyes sparkled with excitement, and he looked to be in the middle of a laugh. He was wearing a huge black coat. Michael remembered how on that day, Gerry’s ears had been cold, so Michael had given him cat earmuffs. They were on him now, white but fading to gray from years of use. Michael had brought Gerry sledding for the first time, and although Gerry had been terrified at first (“You want me to slide down cliffs for FUN?”), he’d quickly taken to enjoying it.  
It was one of Michael’s best photos of Gerry, taken during a relatively peaceful period in their life in late 2007, where Gerry’s eyes weren’t labored by heavy bags and where there weren’t new burns or cuts from the hunt for Leitners.  
Gerry had been disgusted when Michael suggested they frame it and hang it up, but then caved in and even bought a fancy frame for Christmas.  
Michael smiled, remembering Gerry’s flustered voice when he’d given it to Michael. Gerry had tried to downplay it, but Michael thought it had been really sweet and said so.  
Michael shook his head, knowing they had to leave for work soon and couldn’t just keep daydreaming about when things had been better. It had never gotten him anywhere.  
He fed Sunflower and then stepped out of the apartment. Freezing rain whipped his face, and they shivered as they made their way down the street. It wasn’t a long walk to the Institute, about five blocks, so he usually didn’t take a bus. He was regretting that decision, however, as they slowly lost feeling in their face.  
Michael pulled up the collar of their coat, regretting not having grabbed a scarf. They hated the feeling of fabric on their face, especially wool, but right now they were suffering.  
Michael eventually reached the institute, breathing a quiet sigh of relief.  
He cringed at the worms on the lawn, making a note to step on a few of them. They were all on edge since Martin had been attacked by the thing that once was Jane Prentiss, or technically still was? Michael didn’t really know. Gerry hadn’t really explained avatars to Michael, simply making them aware of their existence and giving a vague description that they were connected to one of the fears.  
Michael knew he should tell someone about what he knew, but honestly, the prospect of coming clean about lying for the past few months was… terrifying. He thought that what John did with the fire extinguishers was smart, or at least smart enough.  
Gerry had told him that all avatars have a weakness. If you can find their weakness, you can fight, or at least get away, from most of them. “Unfortunately,” he’d also said, “Fear avatars are very good at also exploiting your weaknesses.”  
Michael wasn’t a particularly squeamish person, so he knew he didn’t have it as bad as the others, especially Martin. Poor guy.  
A few days ago, Michael had been working late, so at about nine pm, he’d decided to order takeout. He’d remembered that Martin was staying there, so Michael had gone to go ask if Martin wanted anything for dinner.  
Michael had knocked, but didn’t hear a response on the other side, so he pushed open the door. “Martin?”  
He didn’t see anyone at first, and, confused, because Martin hadn’t left the archives in almost three weeks, stepped in further into the room Martin was staying in.  
Michael shrugged and went to go order food by himself, figuring Martin went for a walk around the institute, when he heard crying.  
Michael peeked around the corner.  
Martin was sitting under the desk, shoulders shaking. Every few seconds, he would let out a choked sob.  
Michael stood there awkwardly for a moment, considering asking if everything was alright, or alright as things could be, before just… walking away.  
He felt kind of bad about it, but he figured that if Martin had anything to talk about, he would have said it already. Well, that was kind of faulty logic, considering the fact that for almost five years, Michael had been suffering in silence with all his grief, but whatever.  
Michael ordered the food, picking Martin’s favorite Thai place, and dropped it off in Martin’s office, hoping it at least made him feel somewhat better.  
Michael sighed and walked up to the door of the institute, stomping on a couple of worms. They wondered what Gerry would have thought of all this. He probably would have freaked out, which, fair, but there was nothing Michael could really do, even if he did tell the others what he knew.  
Michael vaguely remembered one of the fears being related to bugs. They made a mental note to write it down somewhere.  
They wiped their feet on the mat, shivering in their soaked clothes.  
Michael walked down the institute hallway. The place felt strangely empty, though that was probably just because the rain blocked out most of the light coming through the windows and there were long shadows covering the floors.  
Most of the lights in the hallways were off, which did not help the vibe of the place. But whatever.  
He was the only one in the archives at the moment, so he allowed himself a moment where he scribbled down a note on a sticky note saying, “Jane Prentiss worms connected to fear avatar with worms”.  
He stared at the note, hoping it would somehow trigger a memory, before resigning himself to grabbing the extra shirt from under his desk and going to change. After, they just started work, trying not to let his brain wander to the sticky note. It was a dead end without Gerry.

Michael glanced at the clock, and noticed with a shock of surprise that it was four o’ clock. He really needed to eat.  
They grabbed their lunch, looking around the room. Martin was off somewhere else in the institute, probably researching a case, and Tim was bent over his desk, intently reading something. Sasha had never shown up for work. Michael had called her, but she hadn’t answered her phone. Michael tried not to freak out, despite the fact that after Martin’s battle with the worms their mind was going to rather unpleasant extremes.  
They tried to push down their worry, telling themself that if Sasha didn’t answer any of their texts or calls by tonight they’d swing by her flat after work.  
Michael walked outside, the rain having temporarily stopped. It was still pretty windy and cold, but it was nice to have a break from the stiff air of the archives. They picked a bench against the outer wall of the institute and leaned against it, opening their bag.  
Michael wasn’t really doing a lot of cooking lately, or really in the last few years, so he’d just thrown in leftover chinese takeout. It honestly wasn’t that good, they’d burned it while reheating it that morning, but it was better than eating nothing.  
They popped in their earbuds, listening to music while eating, and when they were done they wiped off their hands and got ready to go back in, before they saw someone sprinting for the institute.  
Michael stood up, ready to go speak to this person. A lot of statement givers, Michael had discovered, were very frantic when coming to give their statements, especially if the event had happened recently. It usually helped to calm them down before they asked to give their statements, if not only so that they didn’t spend forty minutes rambling before getting into the specifics of what had actually happened.  
Michael waited for the person to come closer to the door, about to explain that he was a member of the Magnus institute, when he recognized the distressed, rain plastered face.  
“Sasha?”  
Sasha looked up at him and took a deep breath. “Hi, Michael.” Her voice was shaking, but she didn’t sound as distressed as Michael had originally thought, which was good.  
“Are you… okay?” Michael said, fiddling with the strap on his bag.  
Sasha laughed. It was a cold laugh, her voice cracking. “No. Not really. Can we talk?”  
“Of course. Would you like to go inside? It smells like it’s going to start raining soon.” Michael looked toward the door.  
Sasha sighed. “Yes, of course. That would be great.” She sounded strained, and Michael could see her start to fiddle with her hands.  
Michael nodded and led her inside. There was a small room off to the side of the hallway leading to Artefact Storage that used to be used for holding files but now was a place where interns usually ate lunch, so he led her there.  
“I saw something.” Sasha said as soon as they’d walked inside. She stood rigidly. “A… supernatural… thing.”  
Michael looked at her. He wasn’t really sure what to say. “And?”  
“So… I was walking to work this morning. You know?” She gave a sharp laugh. “And I was walking near these old windows. And I was looking at reflections of people and in the crowd I saw something. And it was just… wrong. Like, Michael, I know crazy people come in all the time with statements that they claim are true but are not and-” She broke off, running her hands through her hair.  
“Sasha. It’s okay. Just keep talking.” Michael said, sounding much more confident than he felt.  
“Okay, so I saw this person- thing- whatever- and the first thing I noticed was that their face was kind of blurred. Like I couldn’t quite make out all the details? And then I looked at their hands, which were weirdly stretched and stiff and long and sharp- and bone stuck out at weird places- and looking back bone stuck out at weird places all over their body. So I’m kind of confused but not scared at this point, so I turn around and look at this thing, and then I noticed that- oh god, this sounds really weird- shadows fell over it wrong? Like the light kind of bent around it at places it should have not, and places where the light hit it were completely shadowed and places where the light didn’t hit it were completely illuminated?” Sasha sounded more calm now, more confused than anything. It sounded like she didn’t quite believe that what she had seen was right.  
“So- I was kind of… excited? Like I know I work in the spookiest place in London or whatever, but I’ve never actually encountered anything… spooky.  
“So I decided to follow the thing. Try to get it on video- you know. And I was already late for work, but I figured- if I could actually find proof that I’d had a supernatural encounter- it would be worth it.  
“So I followed it for hours, but whenever I tried to get a video of it, someone would walk in front of it, or a shadow would fall over it, and it was just- agh. And I eventually realised that if I kept following it, I’d probably get the cops called on me. That’s when I decided to call it quits, try to pretend it never happened- you know.  
“And it’s really weird but-” Sasha cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable. “-even though I followed it for so long, saw it so many times, I can’t remember exactly what it looked like. I remember that things were just- off. Some of its features were distorted, and I’m pretty sure, whatever it was, wasn’t human.”  
Sasha took a deep breath. “So, yeah. I was about to call John, beg for forgiveness that I was so horribly late, and hope I didn’t have disciplinary action taken against me- when the thing walked inside a coffee shop. And yeah, I said I would have stopped following it, but by then I was kind of tired and soaked and I was late anyway, so I just- followed it.  
“And I went inside, and then the thing, although it had been literal seconds since it had walked in before me, had already drunk an entire cup of coffee and was sitting at a table- but that isn’t that weird, I suppose.  
“I stood there for a moment, considering getting in line behind the register and trying to snap a picture of the thing, when it-” Sasha cleared her throat. “-it motioned me over?  
“So I looked around, thinking it was motioning someone else, and then it did it again. Four times. And then it smiled, and I knew it was motioning for me.  
“So I went over. And yeah, all the statement givers that go and hang out with the supernatural usually die tragically, but I just wanted to know what was up.  
“I sat down and it stood up, and then I blinked- and it was back with two coffees? This didn’t even strike me as weird at the time- for some reason.” Sasha laughed again. It wasn’t a real laugh, more to break the tension. Michael didn’t say anything. They were confused- yes, but more than that, they really wanted to know what was going to happen. Which felt cruel, especially since Sasha seemed to be so confused, but for Michael, it was more like he had discovered a particularly interesting statement.  
“So- anyway- it gave me one, and motioned for me to drink. I stared at it for a few minutes, but it became clear that it wasn’t going to continue unless I drank my coffee. Which seemed ridiculous, but I wasn’t about to leave over the fact that it wanted me to drink some coffee. So I did.  
“And then it looked at me, and it smiled. And we sat there in silence. And then I just blurted out and asked what it’s name was.  
“And then it stared at me, and then it laughed. And it was weird and echoing and sort of hurt my head? But I suppose that isn’t that important. And then it asked me how the deaf would describe the sound of someone singing. And then it had the most amused smile when it told me Gerad.”  
Michael hated to cut off Sasha but- “Gerad?”  
Sasha’s eyebrows scrunched up in pity. Michael kind of hated the pity. “Michael- I-”  
“No, I’m sorry. It’s a common enough name I just- please, continue.”  
“Okay- so it asked, ‘how would you describe yourself, Sasha?’ And I found that weird- not because it already knew my name- although that was really weird- but because if it already knew my name how was I supposed to describe myself? So I just said, ‘As Sasha’, and then it laughed again, and it gave me the worst headache.  
“Then it told me that I needed its help. It told me that ‘Tim, John, Martin and Michael would all be dead’ if I didn't take it’s help.”  
“It called us by name?” Michael raised an eyebrow.  
“Yep. I know- weird as hell, right? So I asked what I needed help with. And it laughed that horrid laugh again and told me, ‘with your worm problem, of course!’ and it sounded weirdly thrilled. Which I found… weird.  
“And then it told me that the flesh hive was going to make a big decision soon. And if I didn’t do something about it, it would kill us all. And then before I could answer, it stuck out it’s hand. It told me it wanted to be friends.  
“I didn’t really know what to do, so I just shook it’s hand. And then it- Gerad told me to meet it at Hanwell Cemetery tomorrow. And then it went to leave- but before it did- it said- to call it Gerry. That it’s friends called it Gerry. And then it went out the door- and I tried to follow it- but I went out into the street- it was gone.”  
Michael looked up at Sasha, who had relaxed a little from her earlier position. His mind was reeling with this new information, but his freak-out could wait until later. “Anything else?”  
Sasha shook her head. “Nope. I wandered around for a bit- whatever that thing did was disorientating as hell- and then I came here.”  
Michael ran a hand through his hair, thinking. He paused for a moment, and then said, “Are you going to go?”  
Sasha straightened up a little bit. “I feel like I have to. Even if what this thing is saying is bullshit… what if it's right? What if by not going, I’m risking you all?”  
“It could be even worse if you go,” Michael reminded her. “That thing could kill you. You have no idea what you’re walking into.”  
“A graveyard.” Sasha laughed. “I feel like… I feel like it’s worth it. You know?”  
“You shouldn’t go alone.”  
“Look, if I skip work again, it’s just gonna look like I’m slacking off. But if I get one of you guys to come with me, people will get suspicious.”  
“So you’re just going to go in alone?” They felt their voice raise a little bit.  
“Yeah, Michael. Well, I’m not sure about it. But I can’t just trust that something horrible won’t happen if I don’t go.”  
“So that’s it? That’s your plan?” His voice wobbled.  
“I’ll text you tomorrow with whatever I decided.”  
“Fine. But you’d better at least tell John you aren’t dead.”  
“He won’t believe me, you know. About what happened today.”  
“Think of an excuse on the walk.”  
Sasha smiled. “I’m lucky you aren’t telling him, huh?”  
“Yeah, probably.”  
Sasha nodded, and with a final glance at Michael, walked out of the room.  
And then Michael’s tears started.  
Gerad had told Michael to call him Gerry, once. Said that his friends called him Gerry.  
Gerry Keay was dead. He died more than ten years ago.  
What if he isn’t truly dead? Michael thought.  
Michael didn’t know how Gerry had died. It was plausible he wasn’t dead in a traditional sense, more in a spooky fear type death.  
Michael knew he needed to get out of the institute before some poor bloke walked in and saw him sobbing. Michael grabbed his bag and stood up. His legs shook and his face burned as tears dripped down them, but he pushed himself out the door, down the hallway, out the institute’s doors.  
It was raining again, and the wind had picked back up, but Michael didn’t care. He let himself cry, tears streaming down his face. Breathing was hard. They wheezed, feeling more tears prick at their eyes.  
Michael kept walking, not in any particular direction. They knew they were getting soaked- they hadn’t grabbed his coat- but they did not want to go back to the archives.  
Gerad Keay is dead. Gerad Keay is dead. Michael kept repeating that in his head, trying to fight the raging storm of panic swirling inside him.  
Michael struggled to breathe, and after walking for about ten minutes, knew they needed to stop. They were near a park that Michael couldn’t recall the name of, and he walked in and just flopped down on the grass.  
He was freezing, cold rain dripping through their clothes, but Michael didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to have to do things as the crushing weight of what Sasha had told him bore down on them.  
It’s probably a coincidence. You’re such an idiot. You just want him back.  
Michael laid down on the wet grass for a while, until they were absolutely soaked and shivering and their breathing was normal.  
It was so cold. Michael had barely felt this cold in his life.  
Okay, Michael thought, If we don’t get up, we’ll be sick tomorrow. So we need to get up.  
He had to do things like this sometimes, on the hard days. Give himself little instructions, incentives to keep going, to not crumble.  
One… two… three. Michael stood up, shivering.  
Now pull our phone out of our bag, and look at the GPS.  
They opened his phone, looking at the address. He wasn’t too far from their house.  
Now we need to walk home.  
After a moment of hesitation, Michael started walking. It was hard, his jeans soaked through with rain and his limbs heavy from exhaustion. But after about twenty minutes, he made it home.  
Now we need to find a towel and take off our wet clothes.  
Michael went to the bathroom, grabbed a towel and shimmied out of their wet clothes. Sometimes, especially on days where they didn’t have work, he could go weeks without taking a shower. But he still, albeit slowly, reached toward the shower and turned on the water.  
He stepped in the hot stream of water, feeling his muscles relax and the cold fade away.  
After the shower, Michael went into his kitchen. Their phone was soaked, but it still worked, so they toweled it off and turned it on.  
It was nine o'clock on the dot, and he had about a hundred texts from Sasha asking where he was, combined with some from Tim, Martin, and even John.  
Nice to know I’m high priority. Michael gave a little laugh and responded to them.  
“I’m fine, something came up and I had to leave.” Along with texting John, “If you’re still at the archives, the notes you wanted are on my desk. And you really shouldn’t be. Get some sleep.”  
John responded right away, a sign that he was definitely still at the archives. “Thank you.”  
Michael sighed, hoping John at least got some sleep. It really wasn’t healthy, overworking himself every day.  
Michael brought Sunflower outside for a walk, with an umbrella this time, then made himself some tea and went to sleep.

The next morning, Michael woke up at around six to a text from Sasha.  
“I’m going to meet Gerad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> michael is the mom friend  
> Whoa,,,,,, im actually posting this consistently. how whack is that. anyway. i hope you all had a good day. this is your reminder to go drink some water, eat something, and take your meds. Also, stop sitting in such a hunched position. you're going to hurt your back. in case i don't post again until new year's, which i find unlikely, happy new year! goodnight clowns


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael's first day back at the archives after his accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me almost thirteen hours to write yee haw  
> cw for burn wounds, panic attacks

October 5, 2005

It was Michael’s first day going back at the archives. He’d spent the last few days stumbling around their apartment, not wanting to go outside because sunlight and rain equally irritated the burns, but he’d woken up the day before feeling better than he had all week and decided to go into work the next day.

Their face was covered in bandages, and they’d had to shave their hair because of the burned strands, and as they got ready in the morning, they succumbed to coughing many times.

It would help, Michael thought, to get out of the apartment.

Or maybe that was just Michael trying to justify the fact that although they were definitely not in the right state, mentally and physically, to go to work, they were going anyway. 

The wind stung against their face, but clouds, as usual, covered the sky, which felt like a win. Michael would have liked to wear short sleeves, it being in the late sixties, but honestly, they were too anxious to walk outside with their bandages not covered. It sucked, but hey, it wasn’t like there was much they could do about it, besides going outside with their wounds uncovered, which would definitely make people stare more and give them a risk for infection… so, no.

They pulled on a hoodie, watered some of his plants, and walked out the door with their bag. It was an old, leather messenger bag, which wasn’t the best for travel, but they’d brought it to high school, college, and then work, so they just had to continue the trend.

Michael yawned as they walked down the sidewalk. They weren’t used to moving that much, and the skin on their legs screamed in protest as the skin stretched. They considered stopping for coffee, but they were already moving pretty slowly down the street and he didn’t want to be late on his first day back.

Michael pressed open the door to the institute. Rosie was on the phone, and Michael was thankful that he could just sneak past without having to talk to her, but unfortunately, the call ended just as he walked in.

“Good morning, Michael!” Rosie said cheerfully. “Did you recover from your accident?”

Michael still had his hood pulled over his head, and as he pulled it off, he could almost feel Rosie cringing. They weren’t really a sight to look at, their hair mostly gone with patches of burns, and most of their body covered in bandages. They still forced a smile, though.

“As much as I’m able in only a couple of days.” Michael looked at the ground, not at Rosie. He felt heat creeping up their cheeks. If there were other people in the room now, Michael didn’t want to know. He just wanted to get back to the archives and do their work.

“That’s good. Oh! We got you a gift.” Rosie smiled. “It’s on your desk. If you need help with anything, don’t be scared to ask.”

Michael nodded. He would be terrified to ask and probably wouldn’t, but they appreciated the sentiment. 

With a muttered good-bye to Rosie, Michael walked down the hall, pulling their hood back on. They appreciated that Rosie hadn’t said anything about the hair. Or the burns. Or the bandages. Michael hadn’t really been prepared for the anxiety that would come with people looking at them like this.

They passed a couple of people who muttered greetings but didn’t look at them closer, which was fine.

Before entering the Archives, Michael took a long breath, trying to convince themself that it would all be fine.

Before they could turn back, they pushed open the door. They weren’t visible to the rest of the room, a curve in the wall being in front of them, and they stood there for a moment, trying again to convince themself it would all be fine.

“I’m just saying.” Emma’s voice.

“NO. A crepe is not a taco!” Sarah’s voice.

“What would you classify it as then? Hm?”

“Oh my GOD. A crepe. Is a crepe!”

“What are we all, really, compared to crepes?” Emma took on the mock-philosophical tone she adopted sometimes.

“Humans,” Sarah deadpanned.

“Ah, but as you can see by this statement, some of us are eldritch horrors!”

Michael took this as a good time to try and step in.

“Hello- uh-” Sarah adjusted into her ‘professional’ pose, which was really just adopting her customer service voice and straightening her glasses and her posture, before realising who it was. “Michael!” She grinned.

Emma smiled as well. “Michael!”

Michael gave another fake smile, wincing internally at the pain in his face. “Hey, guys.”

“We were worried about you! Are you alright?” Sarah twisted a strand of her hair.

Michael gave a nervous laugh. “No, not really. I’ll be okay, though.”

Emma’s brows pressed together. “Gertrude told us you’d be in today, but we didn’t really believe her. I mean, you almost died.”

Michael flushed. “It wasn’t- I- uh- it wasn’t that bad.”

Emma shook her head. “The scent of burning flesh was everywhere. Artefact storage still smells like your hair.”

Michael bit his lip. They liked Emma, but she had no filter sometimes.

Sarah kicked Emma under the table. Emma let out a small cry of discomfort, and Sarah loudly cleared her throat.

Sarah smiled. “I’m really glad you’re okay. Even Gertrude seemed nervous.”

Michael wasn’t sure if that was much better than what Emma had been saying, but he appreciated the sentiment. “Thanks. I missed you guys.”

Emma grinned. “Oh yeah! We got you a present.”

Michael nodded. “Thanks. Rosie mentioned that.”

They walked over to his desk, dropping their bag and seeing the gift on the desk. He smiled and opened it. There was a gift card to a coffee shop. They’d been a couple times, and the coffee had been really good.

“Thanks, guys,” Michael said, looking over to Emma and Sarah.

“No problem!” Sarah said, then pulled out a file. “Now- read this statement.” She snickered. “This guy called a crepe a taco.”

This earned an indignant shout from Emma, and Michael smiled. It was good to be back.

\--

Michael glanced up from his work at the clock on his desk. It was two o’ clock, and they stood up, ready to take their break. They’d brought a sad meal of cold spaghetti, but it had been the first thing he’d cooked all week, which made it pretty nice.

Michael walked outside, glad the wind had died down and they could just enjoy the cool air. He’d probably have to get used to eating inside eventually, but Michael had been eating outside at work for years, even in the cold winter, and besides, it's not like there was a reason to stop.

Michael ate his spaghetti, trying not to spill any on his bandages. They were a pain to change, but if they got wet, he’d have to do it anyway, which he absolutely did NOT want to do in the archives bathroom instead of the privacy of his own home.

When they were done, they packed up their lunch, glad they hadn’t spilled any, and got ready to go back inside. While he was walking back around to the front, he stumbled into someone. 

“Ah, sorry!” Michael looked up at the person who they’d bumped into. “I wasn’t looking where I was going-”

They stopped when they saw who’d they bumped into. It was Gerad. 

Well done, Michael thought, you just embarrassed yourself in front of the person who saved your life.

“Sorr- sorry, Gerad.” Michael tugged at their sweatshirt sleeves, wanting to run away.

Gerad nodded. He didn’t stare at the bandages, having already seen the wounds in all their painful glory at the hospital. “Glad you’re okay.”

“Thank you for saving me.” It sounded painfully cliche, but Michael was really grateful.

Gerad shrugged. “It’s what anyone would have done.” If Michael didn’t know any better, they would have thought Gerad was embarrassed.

Michael shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, not as fast as you did. Anyone else probably would have run away from the fire.” Michael gave a short laugh. He’d contemplated what would have happened if whoever had seen him hadn’t tried to get them out a lot.

Gerad shrugged again. “It’s really not a big deal. I’m surprised you’re back so early, though.”

Now it was Michael’s turn to be embarrassed. “I- uh- I was lonely.”

Gerad nodded. “Fair enough.” He almost sounded like he didn’t believe Michael.

Michael stared at Gerad for a moment, wondering if he should say something. He was, in fact, wearing punk platform shoes. They had spikes on the toes, and the heels were pretty tall. Michael still stood much taller than Gerry, though.

“Well, goodbye, then.” Gerry brushed past Michael. “Don’t set yourself on fire again.” He said it completely deadpan, and Michael wondered if he was joking or not.

\--

A couple hours later, Michael was sitting at their desk, when they felt panic rising inside them.

They weren’t a stranger to anxiety attacks. Quite the opposite, actually. He stood up, flinching at how fast they did it, and walked to the bathroom. His hands were trembling, and they felt their breath begin to shorten. Michale pushed open the door and sank to the floor. 

He felt himself tremble as the waves of anxiety hit him. Their face heated up, and they shoved it between their knees. 

He wanted to cry, to scream in anger. 

He was in the fire again, flames were licking at him, and he was frozen to the spot. There was nothing he could do. They couldn’t speak, couldn’t shout for help. The only thing they could do was hope the fire would take them quickly.

They dug their fingernails into his arms, feeling wet tears start to drip down their face. Now they’d need to change their bandages, or else they’d be uncomfortable, just because they couldn’t stop crying, because they were too weak to calm down.

Michael let out a choked sob. It had been his fault, hadn’t it? They’d messed up, and they almost died, and the only reason he didn’t was because someone happened to find them.

They heard the door handle clatter. Michael froze. He hadn’t locked the door.

Michael figured they’d at least try to save his dignity, and stood up, still shaking, pulling back tears and wiping their face off.

Gerad opened the door.

Michael’s heart skipped a beat. Wasn’t one embarrassment a day enough?

Gerad seemed just as surprised. “M-Michael. Uh- hi. Um. Are you okay?”

Michael laughed, but it turned into a sob. Nice going. “N-no. Not really.” The statement was broken off by a crying-hiccup. 

Gerad cleared his throat. Michael could tell he felt embarrassed, which just made them feel worse.

Michael was about to brush past, to make some excuse, when another wave of anxiety hit them.

He was trapped, the flames were burning away their flesh as it boiled, the smoke was filling their lungs and they couldn’t breathe, their eyes stung from the ash-

Michael felt his legs crumbling, all effort to maintain their composure gone. 

“Whoa- uh-” Gerad’s arm stuck out, catching Michael, which was quite awkward. Given how much taller Michael was, but it stopped them from hitting the floor. “Yeah, you’re not okay.”

Michael stared blankly at Gerad. Maybe if they didn’t respond, Gerad would go away. 

Gerad eased them to the floor, and Michael let themself flop to the side. A small voice in his head told himself he was being irrational and ungrateful, but at this point they just wanted to curl up and cry.

Gerad pressed his hands against his temples. “Look, you’re in no state to work. So I’ll tell Gertrude we’re leaving, and then you’ll walk back to your flat and… relax. I don’t know.” Gerad looked at Michael, who was now staring at a point over his shoulder. “Actually- scratch that- someone else can walk you back to your flat, because I don’t trust you to walk back on your own.

“I don’t have any friends outside of the institute.” Michael realised this was very petty, and he probably should have just agreed and walked back on his own.

Gerad sighed. “Is there ANYONE who could take you back?”

Michael didn’t respond.

Gerad sighed again. “Alright, I’ll walk you back, then. Is that okay?”

Michael closed his eyes. “Sure.”

“Alright then. Get off the floor.”

“It’s nice here,” Michael muttered.

“It will be even nicer if you’re lying on your bed or couch or whatever.”

Michael’s bandages had started to itch. He remembered, vaguely, the doctor that had shown them how to dress the wounds saying that they could get infected if they were wet. “Okay.”

Michael slowly stood up, biting their lip at the head rush that greeted them.

Gerad waited for Michael to walk out into the hallway, then said, “Okay, you wait here, okay?”

Michael nodded. Gerad walked down the hall in the direction of Gertrude’s office, and MIchael briefly considered walking away, then decided it would be too much work.

After a few moments, Gerad came back, holding Michael’s bag. 

“Thanks,” Michael muttered, grabbing it from Gerad.

“C’mon, lets go.”

Michael walked a few steps behind Gerad on the street, occasionally giving directions, embarrassment from his meltdown catching up to them. The bandages on their face were very uncomfortable, and they were grateful when they reached the apartment.

“This is where you live?” Gerad asked.

“Yeah.” Michael reached for his key and opened the door. Gerad stepped inside.

“Wow. This is bleak.” Gerad looked around.

“Thanks, Gerad.” The apartment wasn’t that small, but there were only a few things actually in the apartment. The main room had a sparse kitchen on one side, and a tv and a couch on the other. The door was open to reveal a bedroom with a bed and a wardrobe in it. There was another room that Gerad couldn’t see with a desk, a bookshelf, and a computer, and of course a bathroom.

“Okay, so you’re good, right?” Gerad looked at Michael.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Bye.” Michael was being blunt, but he felt like he was going to cry from fatigue and anxiety, and would really rather Gerad not bear witness.

“Not so fast,” Gerad walked over to Michael’s fridge. It was empty. “You should probably eat something.”

Michael shrugged. They weren’t hungry. “I’ll figure something out.”

Gerad sighed. “You know what- I’ll order you something.”

Michael stared at Gerad. “What?”

Gerad ignored Michael’s sound of dissent. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“N-no?”

Gerad pulled out his phone. “Alright. Hold on.”

Michael sighed as Gerad walked out of the flat. He wasn’t sure how long Gerad would be gone, but he needed to change his bandages and walked to the bathroom. 

He peeled off the wet bandages, wincing at the tender, pink skin underneath. Since he was home anyway, they took a shower. The water was lukewarm to not irritate the wounds that much, eyes watering at the discomfort. He then grabbed a towel, and, trying not to tear open the scabs, dried themself off. They pulled out the aintoment and rubbed it on, then tied on the new bandages. The whole process was very tedious, and around thirty minutes later, they were still redressing the wounds, when they heard a knock on his door.

Michael groaned internally, knowing Gerad was probably back

“Come in!” Michael hadn’t locked the door and they didn’t know if Gerad had.

“Michael?” Gerad’s voice, accompanied with the door being pushed open. 

“I- give me a second.” Michael haphazardly finished covering the burns, pulled on clothes, and walked back out.

“I got pizza.” Gerad motioned to the box on the counter. He was eating a slice. The whole sight was incredibly strange.

“I- uh-” Michael reached to fiddle with the hair they didn’t have anymore, and resigned himself to crossing his arms. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Do you need anything else?” 

Michael thought that he hadn’t even needed the pizza, but that would have been rude to say. “No. Thank you.”

“Okay. Here’s my number in case you need anything.” Gerad handed Michael a slip of paper with a number written on it.

Michael took it, eyebrows rising in surprise. “Oh- I- thank you?”

Gerad nodded. “Don’t worry about it. Goodnight, Michael.”

Michael watched Gerad leave. He probably would have been a lot more confused about the unexpected kindness if he hadn’t been so goddamn tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I projecting on Michael? Yes. Can anyone stop me? Probably not, but you can try, I suppose.  
> Anyway, happy new year! May the odds be ever in your favor. Reminder to eat something if you havent and to go drink some water :-)


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go out for a drink, Sasha has an encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload!  
> CW for grief, mentions of past drug use, alcohol, nightmares

April 1st, 2016

Michael jumped when Tim dropped his bag on the ground. He’d been jumpy all day, ever since Sasha had failed to respond to any of their texts asking if she was safe when meeting Gerad. 

She had, however, texted John that she was not going to be in that day, so despite all his annoyed muttering about how they had a job to do, John was not pacing around and wondering where Sasha was, which was a relief. The man could be so paranoid sometimes. And it’s not like Michael blamed him, he wasn’t much better himself and Michael knew from working in the archives for almost fourteen years how much of a toll it could take on someone, but it was nice to have some… calm in the archives.

The statements were clearly getting to John more than he’d been willing to admit. Michael listened to the tapes, he was calm, only going after leads that could be confirmed with factual evidence and dismissing ones that couldn’t, but in reality, sometimes John would spend a week doing research because of a suspicious amount of spelling errors in a statement. 

It was sort of nice, actually. Having a head archivist so invested in the work. Gertrude had always kept so many secrets, so who’s to say she wasn’t, but John was pretty open with them.

Now Michael was the one keeping secrets. But every day he didn’t tell them would just make it worse when he did.

Michael sighed. “Hello, Tim.”

Tim walked over to Michael’s desk and looked at his work. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m researching all cases connected to Jane Prentiss and the worms. So far there have been a lot of dead ends.” Michael took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. 

“No, I mean, why haven’t you left yet? It’s almost eight-forty, and you got here at seven this morning.”

Michael shoved his face in their hands. “What? John’s still working. So is Martin.”

“Jesus Christ, Michael. That doesn’t make it BETTER. I swear, sometimes it’s like Sasha and I are the only ones that don’t live at the institute.”

Michael straightened and turned back towards Tim. “Have you heard anything from her, by the way?”

“Who? Sasha?” Tim shook his head. “No, not since last night. Why?”

Michael didn’t know if Sasha would want them telling Tim where she’d gone. “I just…” He looked down at his hands. Thick scars roped them, not that it had ever really bothered them. “She’s starting to worry me. She’s almost as impulsive as Emma.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Emma?”

Michael bit his lip. “Oh… you didn’t work here before… I forgot. She… died. In a house fire. The police said it was arson, but they never found out who did it.” They felt tears threatening his eyes. He hated talking about it. They hardly ever did, except on occasions like this when people asked. “She had… a lot of enemies.” That was a mild way to put it. According to Gerry, she’d been on a lot of the more high-danger instances where Getrude Pissed People Off.

Michael didn’t see Tim, but he could guess what Tim’s face would look like. Oh, poor Michael. All his friends are dead and he’s just left with the shit they left behind. They were used to it.

C’mon, Michael. Get a grip, he thought.

“Michael… I’m… really sorry.” Tim finally spoke after a few moments of silence.

Michael blinked a couple of times to clear away the tears and stood up. They forced a smile. “It was a long time ago.” It wasn’t, really. Plus, the fact that it was only a week after Gerad’s death and two weeks after Sarah’s didn’t really help. But it’s not like Michael would tell that to Tim. Or really anyone. Everyone had enough on their plates.

Tim smiled again. “Right, so, I was thinking, why don’t we all go out for drinks?”

Michael paused. Whatever he had been expecting Tim to say, it wasn’t this. “Come again?”

“Well, everyone’s so nervous. When I came in this morning Martin was crying in the bathroom, and John’s been working until he passes out at his desk. It’s not healthy.”

“Neither is liquor.”

Tim shook his head. “C’mon, Michael! I already got Martin to agree. We can’t go alone.”

Michael turned back to his desk. They didn’t have time for this. “Ask John.”

“John won’t come unless you come!”

“Then make it a date.” 

Tim sighed. “Michael. You’re exhausted. We’re all exhausted. You aren’t going to discover anything new tonight. You’re just going to end up working until one AM, don’t look at me like that, I saw you the other night leaving at two in the morning-”

Michael snorted. “What were YOU doing out?”

“That’s besides the point. And then as soon as you get up, you’ll come back here. It isn’t healthy.”

Michael wanted to scream that he was doing it to protect them. That his lack of knowledge was the reason they were all suffering. But they wouldn’t get it, even if he had the words to say it. All he could do was give a noncommittal grunt.

“When was the last time you relaxed?”

Michael sighed. He doubted Tim would leave without him. “Fine. I’ll come. Does this get me out of being bothered for the next week?”

Tim grinned. “I make no promises. Get your coat! I’ll get John.”

Michael sighed as he pulled on his coat, and then grabbed his bag. He would have taken his research with him, but after Martin got stalked by evil worms, John really didn’t want them taking statements out of the Archives.

Good job, an annoying voice in Michael’s head said. You might be lying to them all and putting them in danger, but at least you’re courteous to John’s feelings!

Michael shook his head. He really shouldn’t worry about that right now. Tim was right. He was exhausted.

John walked out of his office. “Oh. You actually agreed to it.” His voice sounded flat.

Michael gave a half-hearted grin. “Yep.”

John rubbed his temples. “I suppose it would be good to take a break. But don't-” John turned to Tim, “-expect this to become a normal thing.”

Tim smiled. “What? Office friends can’t go out every once in a while?”

Martin walked in. “Are you guys coming?” 

Michael waved the two of them over. “C’mon. You can fight on the walk over. It’s not getting any earlier.”

John snorted. “We’re not FIGHTING.”

Michael shook his head. “Do I need to be the adult?” They were good at shifting into “funny office millennial” if needed. 

Martin laughed. “Well it’s the first time I’ve left the Institute all week. Let’s go!”

The four of them walked down the London streets. It was foggy, but the streetlights illuminated the area well. Martin talked about the birds he’d seen in the windows, and Tim responded by showing pictures of dogs on his phone. In response, John pulled out his phone and showed the picture of his friend’s cat, and they all agreed that cats were the supreme beings.

Eventually, they reached the bar. It was one Michael had been to a couple of times, but not in the past couple of years .

Tim held open the door for them. “My gentlemen.”

John laughed. “You’re an idiot.”

They walked inside. The music pumped through the establishment, and Tim sang along to it. Tim had a nice voice, but he let his voice rise and fall in strange ways, which made them all laugh.

In a couple of minutes, they all had something to drink.

Michael didn’t drink much, he never had, not even in uni, so he just let Tim order something for them. They took little sips, wrinkling his nose at the bitter taste, and put it down.

“Aw, c’mon Michael, live a little,” Tim whined when Michael gingerly pushed the glass away.

“No, thanks,” Michael responded.

“You might actually have the right idea.” John put down his glass as well. 

Martin laughed and took a sip from his glass. “You guys are hilarious.”

Tim snorted. “I bet you all got up to crazy things in college. Drinking, drugs, hard partying…”

That made John laugh out loud. “Oh, you guys have no idea.”

Tim gave an exaggerated gasp. “What?”

John took a sip from his glass while refusing to meet Tim’s eyes.

“John, you can’t just say things like that and not give any more details!” Tim whisper-shouted.

“Yes, I can.”

Tim gave a long gasp of anguish, and Michael laughed while Martin grinned. 

Michael leaned back a little in his seat. “I never got into anything crazy in college.”

Tim crossed his arms. “Always been the calm and serene type?”

Michael nodded. “I suppose.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “You all are no fun. Martin- what about you?”

“What about me?” Martin responded.

“Any scandals in college? Horrible, tragic events that shook you to your core?”

Martin suddenly flushed red and stood up. “I- uh. Need to go to the bathroom.”

Tim waited until Martin walked out, and then burst into laughter. “He definitely has some sort of horrible secret.”

John laughed. “Martin? Sure.”

Michael snorted. He knew exactly what Martin’s secret was. Lied on his CV. Martin had never even gone to college. Sasha had told them. But it wasn’t like he was going to expose the man.

Tim turned to Michael, a spark in his eyes. “What about you, Michael? What wild things did you do in your young adult years?”

Michael laughed. “A lot. None of which you need to know.”

Tim gave a pouty face. “First you, then John? You all are withholding all knowledge from me.”

“What about YOU, Tim?” John asked.

Tim grinned, but didn’t say anything.

“Wow, talk about withholding information,” John responded.

“Fine, fine. Maybe I committed some mild arson,” Tim said, taking a long sip from his drink.

“Tim, WHAT?” John’s eyes widened as he reached across the table.

“Shhh! You can’t prove anything.”

Michael turned toward Tim as well. “I never struck you as the type.”

Tim laughed. “They deserved it.”

Martin covered his mouth, barely suppressing a flurry of giggles. “Number one. What did you set on fire? Number two, what did they do?”

Tim sighed. “Number one, I’m not telling you because it’s still an active case. Number two, they called Sasha a slur.”

Michael laughed so hard his stomach hurt. Martin walked back as he was laughing, and stared at Michael, tears in his eyes, as John explained what had happened. Then Martin started laughing as well, and then John.

“Tim. I love you,” Michael said when he finally stopped laughing long enough to make words.

John snorted. “Why would you tell your BOSS you had committed arson?”

Tim smiled and took another sip from his drink. “I thought it would lighten the mood! And besides, you don’t even seem like our boss. More like the friendly cat that lives in the archives.”

John shook his head. “I’m not sure if that’s an insult or not.”

Martin smiled. “Cats are the superior beings.”

“Meow,” John said dryly before taking a sip of his drink.

Tim and Martin laughed. Michael smiled. He appreciated nights like this, where they could all act like friends, and Michael could briefly forget his guilt and just… Have fun. They were still itching to talk to Sasha and make sure she was okay, though.

Tim smiled. “I say we try and guess John’s fantastic feats in college.”

“No,” John said.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun. Okay- uh- ever did drugs?”

John tilted his head. “Like- what kind of drugs?”

Tim smiled. “Hard drugs. Crack. Meth.”

John gave a long sigh. Then nodded.

The burst of laughter that followed was enough to get them stares from a few tables over.

Michael smiled. “Really, John? Never would have pegged you as the type.”

John shook his head. “It was… a chaotic time.”

Tim snorted. “Wait until I tell Sasha about this.”

Martin chuckled. “Don’t feel too bad, John. I’ve smoked weed before.”

Tim smiled. “So have I!”

Michael laughed. “What, so I’m the only one who hasn’t done drugs before?”

Tim nodded. “You ARE old and serene.”

John looked at the cup next to Michael and frowned. “Caffeine and alcohol are both drugs.”

Tim shook his head. “No! The spicy ones.”

John scoffed. “I think it’s hardly appropriate to call hard drugs ‘spicy’.”

Tim snorted. “Okay Mister Noble High ground.”

John snorted.

Martin laughed, and took a sip from his drink. “This is terrible.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “Ah, but the tension is gone now, hm? Very calming.”

John smiled. “I wouldn’t call it CALMING, but yes, I do feel that some of the tension is gone.”

Tim laughed. “Well, you have to have a break sometimes. Especially when you work in the spook-stitute.”

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, if any of it is even real.”

Martin looked at John. “You can’t still think that! After all of this…’

“MOST of it is not real.”

“I think a lot more than you think is real, though,” Michael said. He’s not sure what prompted him to say that.

John snorted. “Yeah, well, if the statements I went through today were any indication, probably not. People talking about seeing people with ‘too many limbs’? Ridiculous.”

Tim shook his head. “Guys. Guys! We can’t worry about that right now. This is our break.”

Martin laughed. “What do you want to talk about?”

Tim snorted. “Okay, you know how Sasha’s birthday is coming up?”

Michael nodded. “The twenty-fourth, right?”

Tim nodded. “I thought we could throw her a party!”

“A party? Tim, there’s only four of us,” John said.

“She HAS a family,” Tim responded.

“What would we even do at the party?” John rolled his eyes. “Why don’t we go out for ice cream or something?”

Tim scoffed. “We already went out for ice cream for Martin’s birthday!”

“Which was fun!” Martin interrupted.

Tim pointed at Michael. “And Michael’s birthday!”

Michael shook his head. “More like you guys dragged me to ice cream and then when I said I was going home offered to pay.”

Tim gave an exaggerated look of betrayal. “Well I couldn’t just let you mope on your birthday!”

“I do not mope!”

“Please. When was the last time you spent any time with someone on your birthday before then?”

“I- Sasha and I go out for dinner sometimes!”

“Which is exactly why we should throw her a birthday party!”

“Does she even want a birthday party?” John piped up.

Tim smiled. “Now she does!”

Michael sighed. “No offense Tim, but you probably shouldn’t plan this drunk.”

Tim frowned. “Fine. We’ll plan it tomorrow, Mx. Killjoy.”

Michael laughed. “Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time.”

John snorted. “Maybe this will be fun.”

Martin chuckled. “Maybe they’ll burn the archives to the ground.”

“I’m being optimistic, Martin.”

Michael laughed. “Did you hear about the new animal shelter opening near Carnaby street?”

Tim sighed. “Typical Michael. Switching the subject away from their dear friends onto less important matters.”

Martin gasped. “Are you saying animals aren’t important?”

This triggered an hour long argument, where (mostly) sober and (probably) drunk Tim argued about what was truly important, while John and Michael chimed in randomly and laughed when appropriate.

At around ten-twenty, Michael stood up from the booth. “I’m beat.”

Tim grinned. “I guess we’ll leave, then. You sufficiently relaxed?”

Michael rolled their eyes. “Not relaxed enough to not call you a cab.”

Tim laughed. “That’s fair enough.”

The four of them walked out, got Tim a cab, and then went their separate ways.

“See you, Michael!” Martin shouted over his shoulder, and Michael waved back.

It wasn’t a bad evening. It had helped him calm down. They hadn’t left the house for a social activity in months. Half of him was tempted to walk back to the archives and try to finish his work, but they knew that it wasn’t really worth it, so they just walked home.

Michael opened his door, petting his dog. He’d started to have the neighbors check on Sunflower during the day, especially because he, like Tim said, had started working until one am on most days.

“Aww. Good boy. C’mon, I missed you.” 

When Sunflower was sufficiently spoiled, Michael pulled out their phone. Still no texts from Sasha.

Even though Michael knew it was probably a lost cause at this point, he still typed in another text for Sasha. 

You okay?

Like Michael suspected, after fifteen minutes where they just paced around their kitchen, there was still no response. He sighed, and went to go to bed.

\--

Michael woke up in the morning at five AM. It was earlier than usual, and it was still dark, but with how fucked up his sleep schedule was he really wasn’t surprised. 

They yawned, and figured they might as well start the day. There was no way they’d go back to sleep. Michael had falsely thought that just maybe, relaxing a little before bed would deter their nightmares. They were wrong, of course, and didn’t really want to re-enter the horrific dreamscape.

They turned on the lights, took a shower, got dressed, and put on his glasses. They turned on the TV and made breakfast. All the news was rather bland, but it helped to have some background noise playing. Sunflower gave Michael a look that clearly said, “Why are you awake?” 

Michael laughed at his dog’s tired yawning and walked over to pet Sunflower while eating their eggs. “Good boy.” 

Sunflower yawned and went back to sleep. Michael laughed.

They would have gone straight to work, but after several days where John came in at four-thirty in the morning, Martin had barred them from coming into the Archives before seven, so they just pulled out their book, curled up on the couch, and started reading.

It was a series that Gerry had gotten him into, actually. It was good. Michael had always enjoyed fantasy, and even after Gerry was gone he kept updated on the new books.

Michael fell back asleep after a few minutes.

His nightmares were strange, discordant things. Flames took shapes of the people Michael had lost, his family, his friends, even people that were still alive and he was terrified of losing. They licked at his hands and face, burning away their skin until smoke choking their lungs. And when he finally felt like surrendering to the hellscape, the dream suddenly shifted to people he did know, that were still alive, that were furious at them.

Sasha yelled at him, Tim yelled at him, John yelled at him, even Martin did it. 

“You’re a fucking mess,” Someone that didn’t quite have shape screamed through the dream haze.

Michael wanted to apologize, to ask what was wrong and how he could make it better, and then the dream broke off into strange, spiraling shapes, while fog blanketed his vision-

Michael woke up suddenly. Their fists were clenched so hard he felt bruises start to form, but hey, at least the dream wasn’t real.

Michael shut their eyes. Sun was peeking through the windows now, and it seared through their eyelids.

After a few moments, Michael stood up and washed their face to snap out of the post-nightmare panic. It wasn’t that bad, at least not compared to other nights, and after checking the clock and seeing that it was 8:07, packed a lunch of the leftover eggs and headed out the door.

It was another foggy day, and there weren’t many people out. Technically, Michael didn’t have to go into work on Saturdays, but to put it kindly, Michael had no life other than work.

They reached the archives and checked their phone for texts from Sasha. Still nothing.

\--

A couple of hours later, the door to the archives slammed open. Michael jumped from their chair, and unplugging their headphones in one fluid motion, turned to the door. “Can I-”

“I need to talk to John!” The person was shaking, and-

“Sasha?”

“I saw him. I met it. I met Gerad.”

“Sasha- you’re- you’re bleeding-” Michael walked over, pointing to the stretch stretching from her neck to her shoulder.

“It’s just a scratch!” Her voice was filled with panic, and her eyes were wide with fear.

“Okay, Sasha. I need you to take a breath and sit down. I’ll go get-”

“Sasha?” Martin walked in, holding a couple of files and his tea.

“God- fuck-” Sasha started hiccuping from tears.

Martin looked at Michael and mouthed, “What happened?”

Michael shook his head. “Can- you get Sasha some bandages?” And after a pause, “And also some tea.”

Sasha started really crying. Martin walked out, and Michael pulled up a seat for her. “I need you to take some deep breaths. I’ll get John when Martin comes back, and then you’ll have something to drink and we’ll treat your injuries, okay?” Michael absolutely did not feel capable to deal with this, but he needed to try to do something. Honestly, Tim would probably be much more capable with this. Or Martin. Jesus christ, even John.

“Sasha, are you alright?” Speaking of John, there was the walking dead archivist now.

Sasha rubbed her eyes. Her sobs were quieter, and she was sitting up straighter. “I’m… I had an incident.”

Martin came back with tea and band-aids. “Here!” Sasha took the tea, but not the bandages.

After a few moments, Sasha stood up. “I want to make a statement.”

John shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re still bleeding.”

“I would like to make a statement,” Sasha repeated with more authority in her voice.

“Fine, but at least-” John said, sighing.

Sasha breezed past the three of them, and with a hopeless look at Martin and Michael, John followed her.

There was an awkward moment of silence before Martin sighed and turned to Michael. “Someone should probably text Tim.”

Tim came in fifteen minutes later (“Can’t we go a DAY without any of you almost dying?”), and Sasha and John came out ten minutes after that. Sasha didn’t want to talk, and told them to just ask John before going home with Tim (“No offense, Sash, but I do NOT trust you to not get hit by a car”), and John told them to just listen to the statement before hurrying off (“I really DON’T have time for this”).

So that’s what Martin and Michael did.

It wasn’t anything fascinating. Well, obviously, it would have BEEN fascinating, but when you’ve worked in the archives for over a decade, you get used to fucked-up statements. 

Sasha recalled the events of yesterday, then the events of what happened when she went to the graveyard. 

She’d gone to the graveyard and met Gerad. Typical spooky worm stuff. They’d killed a dude filled with worms. This was very helpful because they had not known that the worms could be killed with CO2 before.

However, there was one line that stuck with Michael.

It was a line where Sasha described Gerad’s appearance.

“His hair was long and black- although it didn’t really fit to call it… that color. My head hurts when I think about it. He was covered in eye tattoos which was… strange. To say the least. Inside the eyes were little… swirls? All his features are weirdly stretched. His fingers were too long, and his lips came too far back. But I guess that wasn’t really important?”

Gerry had black hair and was covered in eye tattoos.

Michael thought back to the strange circumstances surrounding Gerry’s death. How Michael hadn’t known about it until after the funeral, despite Gerry having no other family. And as Martin tried to talk to Michael about how to best defend themselves against the flesh hives, Michael started wondering if Gerry was even really dead, or taken by one of the fears he’d dedicated his life to rebelling against.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that the pacing got a little messed up at the end! I was having trouble writing it, and just figured I'd write a basic summary instead of word-by-word.   
> Anyway, if you'd like to come hang out with me, you can find me on tumblr @anarchyfurbies .
> 
> Me, writing this chapter after reading comments: oh shit the people have expectations of me
> 
> (that isnt to say i don't appreciate the comments! dont worry, I can't disappoint anyone more than my mom after i told her i wanted to major in animation)
> 
> Have a good evening, folks :))


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerry has no idea what he is doing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gerry has no idea what he is doing........... kin
> 
> I SAID I would keep this story from Michael's point of view but alas, I am a people pleaser and constantly feel like if I don't explain every character's motivations the story will be badly received. I find this unlikely as you all are quite nice but I cannot shake old habits.
> 
> Cw for light discussion of burns, mild paranoia

October 5, 2005

Gerry didn’t WANT to take care of Michael.

He didn’t WANT to be responsible for anyone Gertrude would most likely fuck over in the end.

What he WANTED to do was burn his books in peace.

But nobody gets nice things.

Gerry had a personal policy. He would only interfere in the victim of a Leitner’s lives if he could actually do any good by interfering. Otherwise, he could just leave after burning the book, maybe call Getrude or the cops, and be done with it.

But Gerry… he felt sort of bad about the whole thing. 

He’d promised himself he’d go right back for the book in Artefact storage after eating something, and he was exhausted and had been awake for thirty-seven hours. Of course, he ended up passing out at the desk he’d chosen to eat at, and had only awakened two hours later, where he then dashed to Artefact storage.

And of COURSE, in the time it had been there, one of Gertrude assistants had managed to set himself on fire.

Of COURSE.

And although Gerry wanted to walk away after getting Michael an ambulance and burning the book, Gertrude had asked Gerry to deliver the cell phone.

Of COURSE.

So he did, because, hey, he may have been raised by a Leitner-obsessed-monster who had killed his father for her ritual, he wasn’t RUDE.

So he went to the hospital, made a little bit of conversation, dropped off the phone, and left. And then he tried not to think about how the burns would heal, but Michael would most likely be waking up from a fiery hellscape at least once a week for the rest of his life, because that was against his policy. And hey. It could have been worse. He could have been burned until his skin peeled away and he was nothing but an ashen husk, instead of having his clothes set on fire and getting away with mild nerve damage and blisters.

But THEN. 

THEN he found out that Michael was Gertrude’s EXPERIMENT.

To see how long she could keep him in the dark.

And ALTHOUGH Gerry very MUCH wanted to stab Getrude for that, he didn’t, because he may have a mother that he ran away from for the sole purpose of not being manipulated or seeing someone else being manipulated, for that matter, he wasn’t an IDIOT. And being on trial for murder would not be optimal, people!

So, he decided to HELP Michael. HELP him survive, being the lord knows that boy is going to get himself killed. If Gerry actually had a normal childhood that did not often require him to murder people, he probably would have thought it was funny.

Fuck, he actually did find it sort of funny. But less in a funny “ha, ha” way, and more of a “god fucking damnit, if I don’t laugh at this I am going to end up running off a cliff”.

And now he was leaving Michael’s apartment, trying not to think about the smell of his flesh as it burned against the ground in Artefact storage.

Yeah., Gerry was a little squeamish. Everyone is. Of course, that didn’t mean he was going to stop his line of… work.

It wasn’t like there were a lot of places for someone who didn’t legally exist and had no experience to work, anyway. And it’s not like he’d WANT to work a normal job. Even in the Archives, he felt… out of place. Less so than other places, however, so it was bearable.

Gerry was about halfway down the street before he realised that he didn’t have a place to stay that night.

Fuck.

He could always turn back and ask Michael if he could crash on his couch, but he didn’t want to have Michael deal with him. Or to deal with Michael, really. It was annoying enough that he worked with him.

Gerry paused, thinking. It wouldn’t be hard to break into Gertrude’s house, he’d done it before, and he could spend the night there, but then he’d have to… deal with Getrude. There were plenty of cheap hotels in London, but Gerry wasn’t too soft on getting lice today. He briefly considered the idea of breaking into his mother’s bookshop and staying there, but the last time he did that, one of the employees snitched on him.

Getrude’s flat it was.

He walked down the narrow streets, avoiding everyone he saw. Even though he knew he wasn’t doing anything wrong yet, he couldn’t shake the constant feeling that he was doing something wrong.

He walked into the backyard of Getrude’s flat and jumped up to the window. Gerry pulled himself up with practiced ease and fiddled with the lock for a few moments before it popped open. For someone that was constantly pissing off everyone, Getrude really needed better security. 

He hopped inside and looked around. Getrude’s soft snores came from her room, and Gerry walked into the bathroom, used the bathroom, and then washed his face.

Gerry was kind of hungry, despite the cheap pizza, so he opened the fridge and sighed at what he saw. Getrude really needed to get better food, Gerry thought wryly as he glanced at the assortment of two apples, a loaf of bread, a bit of ham, and a single piece of cheese.

He reached for one of the apples and bit into it. It was almost tasteless.

Gerry supposed that Getrude didn’t really need to ENJOY food anymore, just eat it. Gerry also supposed that most of the things that actually mattered to her were statements. Eye bastards.

He flopped down on the couch, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a book. It was nice to read, even if every time Gerry picked up a book he was terrified it was going to be a Leitner.

He read for a while, barely tired, until a yawn disrupted him from his relaxing.

“Gerad?” 

He looked back. “Hey, Getrude.” He glanced at the clock. Twelve-twenty seven AM. “Good morning.”

“You know, if you needed somewhere to stay the night, you could have asked.”

Gerry shrugged. “The door was unlocked.”

“I am certain it wasn’t.”

“Do you Know?”

“Yes, actually.”

Gerry snorted. Eye bastards. “You do need to get better food.”

Getrude walked over to the kettle and turned the water on. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Are you really saying you actually enjoy this stuff? Honestly.”

“Apologies. I didn’t expect my meals to be tested against culinary expert Mary Keay.”

Eye bastards. “She missed you at Christmas last year.” That was only half a joke. Every year, Mary Keay sent a dinner invitation to Getrude for Christmas dinner, despite the fact they were not Christians or Catholics and did not celebrate Christmas and neither did Getrude. And every year, Getrude did not respond.

“Maybe I’ll make it this year.”

Gerry looked back into his book. “Maybe.”

They stayed like that in silence until Getrude lifted the pot off the stove and poured herself a cup of tea. “Would you like one?”

“No thanks.”

Getrude nodded, and she walked back to her room with the cup, and then Gerry heard the lights being turned off.

He read for a few more minutes, before fatigue hit him hard, and he curled up on the couch and went to sleep.

The next morning, Gerry woke up at nine. Or maybe the same morning? Time was weird when you stayed up past midnight.

Gertrude was already up, typing something on her computer. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

Gertrude shrugged, and continued typing. “I don’t need to go to the archives to do ALL my work.”

“Workaholic.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

Gerry shrugged and stood up. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“It’s not like I can stop you.”

Gerry rolled his eyes and stepped into the bathroom. He took a shower, brushed his teeth using one of the toothbrushes that Getrude had under the sink, and walked out. “Bye.”

Getrude waved as Gerry grabbed his bag and walked out the door.

He checked how much money he had left. Sixty-nine euros. Not great, but not terrible. It just meant he could no longer crash at cheap motels. He’d really need to figure out someone that wasn’t Getrude that he could stay at their place. But that was a problem for Gerry in about ten hours to figure out.

He had no aim for today. Getrude didn’t have any books that Gerry needed to go after, and none of his other sources had come through, which was confirmed after a quick check to his phone. 

He wandered aimlessly for a few minutes, thinking about what to do to occupy his time. He wasn’t hungry, but he found himself walking to a cafe anyway. He stared at the menu for a moment, then pulled some money out of his bag and ordered a bagel.

Gerry waited at the back of the cafe, listening to orders being called out as he waited for his. After a few moments, a familiar face walked in.

Jesus Christ.

It was Michael, in all his neon glory.

Of FUCKING course. Gerry glanced at the menu again, and noticed that he was at the cafe they’d gotten him a gift card for. Of FUCKING course. Hey, it might as well happen. Why not?

Michael walked up and ordered something, then walked to the back. He stared at the floor, clearly avoiding eye contact with everyone

When he reached the back, he looked up and saw Gerry. Surprise flickered across his face, then fear, and there was a brief moment where Gerry thought Michael was going to bolt before he tried a half smile and stood next to Gerry.

Jesus Christ.

Michael was AFRAID of Gerry. Or, more likely, embarrassed around Gerry. And hey, he got it, he wasn’t the friendliest person and it was embarrassing to have a freak-out around ANYONE, but it was still… almost comical. Especially because Emma was a thousand times more terrifying than Gerry was, not that Michael actually knew that.

Gerry tried for a smile. “Good morning.”

“Hi, Gerad.” Michael wouldn’t meet his eyes. He took off his already-clean glasses and wiped them off. Jesus Christ.

“How’s uh…” Gerry trailed off and realised he had no idea what he was going to say. How’s the weather? How’s the mental breakdown you had last night? How’s having no clue what’s going on in the archives going for you? “Your injuries?” 

Shit. That was even worse. Nice going, Gerry.

Michael looked a little annoyed. Which probably meant he was really annoyed. That dude had a lot of pent up rage. “It’s… good.”

Jesus fucking christ, Gerry. You made the cinnamon roll mad. He didn’t even know that had been possible.

“Sorry- I-” Gerry stammered, trying to think of a way to make conversation without making a fool out of himself. Then his order was called, and he scurried away.

Jesus fucking christ, Gerry. Good job. Amazing! You did such a GOOD job, he thought as he left the shop and ate his bagel. At least the bagel tasted good.

He wandered around for a while. It would have been nice to get out of the city, seeing as he had nothing to do, but he also didn’t have a way to actually get out of the city that day. He’d usually just try to tag along when someone else left, or just wait until he needed to burn a Leitner somewhere else and then try to stick along a bit.

He never really stuck along anywhere. His time over the past two months “working” at the institute was the longest he’d actually stayed anywhere since he was… twelve? Maybe thirteen? His mom had always been dragging him somewhere else.

This was also the longest time he’d run away. He’d never run away for more than a week, and it was… terrifying. He enjoyed the relative freedom, he supposed. It was hard not to feel out of place, though. Especially after that.

Gerry felt like he should apologise to Michael. For what, though? Besides being a pain in the ass. Specific offenses.

Did Gerry taking Michael home the night before make them even? Is that how that worked? His mom would have said that that made Michael in debt to Gerry. Gerry didn’t really want to worry about debts or anything like that.

Gerry sighed. Maybe he could do something for Michael? Help him out in the archives or something.

He turned back towards the archives, deliberately going around his mom’s bookshop. On the way back, he passed a clothing shop with tie-dye t-shirts in the window.

He paused for a moment and went inside. He came out a few minutes later with a little shopping bag.

I shouldn’t have bought that, he thought as he walked back to the archives. I should really just go back and return it. I don’t really have enough money left to buy random gifts for random archival assistants.

He didn’t turn back, and kept walking to the Institute. 

He walked in and headed straight for the archives. Sarah and Emma were somewhere else, Gerry was pretty sure they’d been sent on a trip, so Michael was the only one in. 

Michael was humming softly as he did his work. Gerry flinched at the noise, then scolded himself. 

Jesus fucking christ, Gerry. Michael isn’t going to hurt you, he thought. Well, as far as we know.

Shut up, brain.

His brain cruelly refused to shut up.

Despite that, he still felt… scared to approach Michael, so he just stood there for a while. He considered turning around, but he did promise himself that he’d help Michael

It took a really long time for Michael to look up. Long enough that Gerry’s legs started to ache.

When he finally did look up, he looked surprised. “Oh! I didn’t hear you come in.”

Michael didn’t SOUND mad. Not even veiled anger. Completely neutral. That was good. “I uh… I had a free day. I was wondering if you needed any help?”

Michael smiled. “I actually do need help. There’s this cabinet that I need to move, but Sarah and Emma are both out today.”

Gerry fiddled with his sleeves. “Oh, okay.”

Michael waved him over to the other room. “Gertrude wanted this moved to that side of the room-” He pointed over to a corner. “Can you lift up this side? I’ll give directions.”

Gerry nodded, and then the two of them moved it. Michael thanked him and walked back to the other room. “I need to get back to my research. Is there anything else you need?”

Gerry reached back for the bag in his pocket. “Ah, do you want this?”

Michael looked at him blankly.

“Oh- it’s uh- a gift? I noticed you were covering your head with your hood, and in my experience it’s more comfortable to have something separate to cover it with.”

Michael took the bag and opened it. It was a tie-dye headwrap, one of the ones that were shaped like headbands but were much longer.

“Oh- I- thank you!” Michael looked panicked.

Shit. Did he hate it?

Michael looked at Gerry’s slightly panicked face and shook his head. “No- I mean it- it’s- it’s great. I love the colors!”

Gerry breathed a sigh of relief. Michael could still be lying, but he probably wouldn’t be reassuring Gerry if he was out to get him.

“Alright, well, see you around.” Gerry left before Michael could respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gerry: being on trial for murder would not be optimal  
> me: well you won't technically be on trial


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerry and Michael meet for the first time in years.
> 
> CW for unreality, hallucinations, not being able to tell the difference between a dream and reality, animal death, scuicidal thoughts, loss, Dissociation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are going to hate this chapter but I wanted to write it and im who really matters. please proceed with caution as this is REALLY not as light as the other things I write. I'm also putting cws in chapter summaries and not notes now, so please check the summary!!

May 8, 2016

Soon after promising Tim that he would no longer spend more than ten hour workdays at the archives, Michael started doing twelve-hour workdays.

It wasn’t really intentional. It just kind of happened.

When Michael got all his real work done, he wanted to read up on statements related to the thing that called itself Gerad. Or anything that seemed related. Unfortunately, he couldn’t take statements home, and Michael’s camera quality on his phone was too shit to make digital copies. So, he took a couple of hours after work to engage in his own… projects.

He knew they thought he was being paranoid. In fact, somehow, but probably through Sasha, the news that Michael was investigating someone that supposedly died five years ago but also somehow kept showing up in statements spread through most of the institute. He didn’t mind the pity, actually. It made people a little less hesitant to show them their research, a little less confused why he instead of someone else was asking.

The downside was, it HAD gotten him a meeting with Elias to discuss his new obsession.

“I’m very concerned with your mental health,” Elias said, two weeks ago.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Michael had responded. They’d known exactly what he meant.

“I feel like you may be taking the material in statements… a little too literally.”

“That’s my job.”

Elias had frowned like a disappointed father. “You are aware, most of our statements come from liars and the insane, yes?”

“Yes.” Michael knew where this was going, but they wouldn’t let his expression betray him.

“Michael have you… looked into mental health services?”

“Yes.”

“I think it would be good if you had someone to talk to.”

“Okay.”

Michael saw Elias’s hand twitch with annoyance. “I don’t mind if you continue researching this, but if it affects your performance we will have to speak again.”

“Okay.”

Elias stared at Michael for a moment.

“Can I go now?” Michael asked. 

Elias had nodded, and Michael had gone back to the archives.

Back in the present, Michael was walking past a door. It was a door he had been fairly certain was not there before.

He knew nobody else could see the doors. He’d asked many people many times if there was anything there, and they’d said no.

They were determined to not let it bother them. He knew thinking about where the doors came from for too long was a quick way to be prey to the… Gerad.

He turned the corner, and a door was in the way. It was bright yellow, while the doors around the rest of the institute were shades of brown and white.

Michael tried to walk around it, but they realised after a moment that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Leave me alone.” He knew it was a dumb thing to say, and defidently wouldn’t work, but to be honest, they were getting kind of scared.

It was late, around ten pm, and the others had already gone home. Martin was asleep. There might be some janitors still around, but they were completely alone. Nobody would notice if he was gone until too late.

In a frantic movement, Michael pulled out their phone. It wasn’t turning on.

Fuck.

“Hello, Michael,” someone said.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Michael looked around, REALLY wishing they’d gone home earlier.

I mean, the thing probably would have just killed us at home, he thought.

“Don’t look so surprised. You’ve been looking for me, no?” The voice was coming from behind him.

“I’ve been looking for statements about you- there’s- there’s a difference.” Michael’s voice shook as he deliberately didn’t turn around.

“Is there? Really?”

“Why are you here?”

“A question answered with a question. How curious.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re the one who asked.”

Something gripped Michael’s arm. It was a texture that he couldn’t begin to describe, and it was weighted like a bag of rocks. He turned around on reflex, and was greeted with the… thing.

It had long black hair, pale skin and wore black skinny jeans with a band T-shirt that Michael didn’t recognize, and that’s about when things stopped being normal. The eyes were so many colors they hurt to look at, the skin around it’s mouth was stretched so you could see the teeth, which it had FAR too many of, and the eye tattoos changed location depending on how you looked at it. The fingers gripping Michael’s arm were long and sharp. 

Despite all that, it was unmistakably Gerry,

“What the fuck?” Michael laughed in disbelief. “Who are you?”

“I am Gerad. Or, Gerry to you.”

“I’ve never met you.”

It grinned. “That is a lie, and you know it.”

It was a lie. Michael recognized him. It was his dead boyfriend. Well, a distorted version.

Somehow that statement tore apart his composure.

“Gerry… what… what happened?”

Gerry frowned. “That is… a complicated question. There is no answer. There are infinite answers.”

Michael wanted to run, but Gerry was still holding his arm. “Are you… actually him?”

“Are we all even anything?”

“Jesus Christ, Gerry.” Michael laughed again. “Why are you here?”

“To be a nuisance.” It smiled, revealing it’s far too many teeth again.

“Can you be a nuisance at a later date?”

“Time isn’t real.”

“That’s lovely.”

“How much time do you think has passed while we’ve been talking? I’ll give you a hint: those clocks aren’t correct.”

Michael glanced at the clock behind him anyway. It read seven-forty six.

Even though they knew that Gerry was playing mind games, he started to panic.

“L-let me go.”

Gerry grinned. “See you around, Michael.”

Gerry was gone in a second. In another moment, Michael crumbled to the ground, clutching his head. He realised he was bleeding from his ears and nose. It hurt so much. It felt like someone had a knife twisting around in their face, carving out everything.

And then they started to cry.

Jesus fucking Christ Gerry, what happened to you?

It was a hopeless thought. It was a useless thought. There was no reason to dwell on it.

Michael laid there for hours. Their muscles tensed up, and after a while, they started throwing up. The smell was horrible, but he… he COULDN’T move.

\--

“Michael?”

Sasha.

“Oh my god, Michael, are you okay?” She sounded panicked.

Michael didn’t want to explain. So he didn’t. 

“Hold on, wait here,” Sasha walked away.

It wasn’t like Michael was going anywhere. He shut his eyes.

\--

There were two sets of footsteps this time.

Martin and Sasha’s quiet whispers surrounded him. It was so loud.

“Hey, uh, Michael, um, can I uh- can I uh- take you back to the archives?” Martin sounded concerned.

Michael nodded weakly.

Martin picked him up. Michael opened his eyes to see Sasha walking in the other direction, probably to clean up their mess. He couldn’t find it in themself to care.

“Michael, uh, do you, do you want to take a shower? There’s one in the bathroom behind the copier,” Martin said.

Michael knew that. He nodded.

“Great, uh, hold on. Can you walk?”

Michael nodded again, but it was more of a maybe that time. Martin put him down, and although wobbly, he walked to the bathroom.

When they were inside, they shut the door, took a deep breath, and crumbled to the floor. He didn’t think anyone would believe them. And even if they did, what could they even do? 

He laid there for a while, feeling numb, before eventually standing up and showering.

They stood there for far longer than needed, long after the water became freezing.

He had a spare change of clothes, and was grateful to see Martin had left the bag with them in it outside the bathroom door so he didn’t have to change back into the disgusting clothes.

Michael walked back into the archives. John was standing there. 

“Are you okay?” John sounded concerned. Michael felt distant. “You’re shaking.”

Michael hadn’t even realised he had been shaking. They shrugged.

“Martin made you tea… a couple of hours ago. It’s cold now- I can ask him to make more if you’d like.”

Michael glanced at the clock behind John. It was almost eleven. And if the light outside was any indication, it was the morning. They shrugged.

“Do you need to go to urgent care?” John’s voice felt horrible.

Michael shrugged.

“God, Michael, what happened?”

Michael shrugged.

John sighed. “Do you- do you need to go home?”

Michael shrugged. All of their emotions were too muted to actually want something.

John shook his head. “Look- we’ll- we’ll figure something out. Just- just sit down.”

Michael sat down on the couch behind them. They had a vague sense of being hungry, but couldn’t motivate himself enough to move.

They stayed like that for two days.

He was fairly certain that someone was going to kick him out any second, but nobody actually did, which was fine. Martin brought him food that he picked at, Tim and Sasha tried to talk to Michael, and John tried to figure out what had happened, but they didn’t actively try to move them. In the end, Michael just ended up joining The Archives Sleepover. 

There was a door next to the couch. It was pale yellow, and several times someone would walk right through it. It was like something out of a bad video game. 

He didn’t tell anyone about the door.

On the third night, Michael started walking around the institute again. He walked through the hallways, flinching at every noise, and the doors followed him.

They never left the archives during the day. They didn’t want to see anyone, and seeing just John, Tim, Martin and Sasha was taxing enough. 

They walked through the institute at night, staring at the doors, wondering how quickly it would take for one to devour him if they gave in and walked through.

They were so tired, but couldn’t sleep for more than thirty minutes.

On the fifth day, they were sitting under John’s desk when John walked in. He didn’t see them, or didn’t acknowledge them, and began the statement. The words made no sense to Michael.

“...reminds me of the state of some of our… worse statement givers. Officially, he’s just on sick leave, but…” was all Michael could make out.

Eventually, the statement must have ended, because John walked out. After a while, Michael began to feel a little hungry, so he stood up and went to follow.

There was a door in the way.

Michael stared at the door for a long time. The edges around it flickered in and out of Michael’s vision, and the door itself was orange. That was a new color. 

It hurt Michael’s head to turn away, so he kept staring. 

It would be so easy, they thought, to just open the door. How long would it take for it to devour me?

Nobody will believe me if I tell them, Michael knew that. I’m losing my mind. Is this even real? Is this a dream?

Have I ever been real?

Michael reached out, ready to turn the door handle. He started to open it. He could see hallways behind that flickered with color. How lovely, it looked.

“Michael?” In a moment, Tim was there. When had Tim been there?

The door was still there. Michael didn’t want to talk to Tim. It would be so easy to slip away, out the door. They could think about what would happen later.

“Michael?” Tim said again. Or maybe he’d never said it in the first place.

Michael pushed open the door. He looked back at Tim, trying to remember his face. He looked so scared. 

“Bye, Tim.” Michael stepped inside the door.

He was there for an eternity, he was there for a second, and Tim grabbed his arm.

“Michael!”

He was pulled back, and the door closed.

“Michael- what- what was that?”

Michael looked back at Tim. He looked terrified. It took Michael a second to realise that was because of them. 

Michael sighed. He didn’t know what Tim saw. He didn’t know what was real. So he stood up, motioned for Tim to follow, and went to the archives. He pulled out statement #0071304 of Ivo Lensik, and handed it to Tim.

“The doors,” Michael muttered. “The doors.” He didn’t explain further.

Tim flipped through the statement. He seemed confused. Michael reached for Sasha’s statement. “The doors,” he said again.

“Michael… are you being- hunted- by the- the Gerad?” Tim asked after a few moments of flipping through statements.

Michael nodded. He felt close to tears.

Tim stayed silent for a moment. Then he put down the files and rubbed his eyes. “We should- probably talk to John.”

They did, though Michael didn’t really remember it. John asked for a statement. Michael said no. John asked if Michael wanted to stay in the archives. Michael said yes.

John said other things that didn’t really matter. Sasha and Martin may have also been there. Michael didn’t know.

There was a door behind John. Michael stared at it the whole meeting. He knew Tim had saved their life, or maybe didn’t, but they felt robbed of their chance to escape. 

After a while, Michael was back in the backroom of the archives. He was alone. He wasn’t supposed to be alone. There had been people there at some point, they thought. There was a plate in front of them. There was residue from some kind of food. It didn’t matter what kind of food or who ate it.

Later, still, or maybe earlier? Tim came in with a tape recorder. “I found this. It’s a recording of… you and Sasha? I’m not sure where it came from or when exactly it was, but I thought it would cheer you up.”

Michael stared at Tim. Then at the recorder. And shrugged.

Tim smiled a little and clicked play.

\--

“It’s really late, you know,” Sasha laughed.

“It’s eleven pm, Sasha,” Michael said.

“Yeah, and we have work tomorrow.”

“Shouldn’t’ve stayed so late then!”

“Well I’m going home now.”

“C’mon, just eat it.”

“Hmph. Fine.” A pause. “Michael, this is really good!”

“Ha! Told you.”

“I am leaving now, though. Goodnight!”

\--

Michael remembered that tape. Sasha’s sister had just been hospitalized for cancer, and it was while she was still working in artefact storage and Michael didn’t know her that well. Michael had wanted to do something anyway, and made her a cake. 

“Thanks,” Michael said. 

He could see some irritation on Tim’s face. Michael wanted to say he was trying, but he wasn’t, and besides, there was another door over Tim’s shoulder that was distracting him.

“Try to get some sleep, okay?” Tim motioned toward the cot on the other side of the room, and Michael nodded.

He spent hours staring at the door from the cot.

\--

It was days later when Michael started to feel something else besides muted fear and sadness. Tim, Sasha, Martin, and John had made it their personal mission to snap him out of his haze, although they would never say it like that, and had been giving him photos and tapes of… better times.

John had been showing him a photo of Michael and Gerry walking their dog. It had been a photo that Gerry shared with the rest of the office in a notion that both pleased and embarrassed Gerry, when he remembered his dog.

“Fuck- John- My dog!” It was the most words Michael had said in… how long? It didn’t matter. But it DID matter.

“What?” John looked up, surprised.

“My dog- he’s- he’s-” Michael started panicking.

“It’s okay, what about your dog?” Martin said, walking in from the other room.

“My phone died when- when it happened- I didn’t- I didn’t text anyone to take care of my dog.” Michael was close to tears at that point.

John hesitantly touched Michael’s arm. “You can use my phone- do you have anyone you can text?”

“My- my neighbors.”

“Alright, hold on.” John grabbed his phone out of his pocket and went to the text app. He handed it to Michael.

The colors of the app swirled in front of Michael’s eyes. After a few moments of staring, Michael typed in his neighbor’s phone number and typed,

“Hi! I hate to be a bother, but I’ve been sick and away from my house. Can you please check on Sunflower? -Michael”

“...” His neighbor was typing.

“Hi, Michael. We’ve been worried about you. We took Sunflower on the tenth and texted you,” His neighbor responded.

Michael sighed in relief. He then typed back: “Thank you so much. I’ll be home today, can you drop her off at around-” Shit- what time was it? He hadn’t look at a clock in days-

Michael looked at the date on John’s phone. May seventeenth, 12:34 pm. 

“-3 pm?” He typed back.

“Yeah, sure!” They responded.

Michael’s heart was pounding, hard. “I need to go home.”

“What?” John asked.

“I need to go home,” Michael repeated. He stood up, ready to walk back to their flat.

“Michael- you don’t even have shoes on.”

“I’ll get some.”

“Jesus Christ, Michael, just wait here for a second- Martin!” They walked out of the room together.

After a few moments they came back with Michael’s bag, his shoes, and their coat. Michael didn’t recognize the bag at first.

“Alright- okay, Martin, can you walk Michael back to their apartment?” John said. Or someone else might have.

“Oh- yeah- no problem!” Martin responded.

Next thing Michael knew, he was alone in his apartment with his dog. The dog looked happy. What was the dog’s name? Sunflower. Flowers.

There was a door. The dog was sniffing the door. The door could swallow people. The door HAD swallowed someone, once. What was their name?

It hurt to think. What was their name?

There was someone in the door. There was someone who had been swallowed by the door. What were their names?

Who were they?

Who had they been?

Ryan and Gerry. Two people.

One was in the doors, one had been swallowed.

Michael was insane. That’s what everyone had told him. He’d been walking home with Ryan from school- maybe- and a door- there was a door- someone got swallowed by the door- what was their name? Ryan? Ryan had been swallowed by the door- the door had taken Ryan- Ryan was dead and nobody had remembered him- then Gerry died and he was INSIDE THE DOOR-

Michael covered his ears and started to scream. The dog was licking him, the dog was barking, the dog was-

He was back at the archives. Emma was there- no- Emma died. Emma died… how long ago? Emma was dead. That was certain. Emma was laughing at something a woman Michael had never met was showing her.

There was a door. The door was yellow. The door was ever so slightly open, a little bit of wind would probably open it the rest of the way.

Gerry was there. Gerry was dead. Gerry died around the time Emma did. Before? After? It didn’t matter- Gerry was dead.

Michael reached for the door, and he was in the archives again.

Martin, John, Sasha, and Tim were talking about something. Tim held up a paper covered in words Michael couldn’t begin to comprehend and said words that felt like Sandpaper. Michael responded with something that they didn’t understand and felt horrible to say. Tim nodded and said something else, and then started talking to John.

Michael needed to get outside, where was he again? He reached for his bag, and then realised it wasn’t there.

Wait- John worked in research, why was he in the archives? Where did Tim and Sasha work? There was another person… Michael remembered knowing them- who were they?

Getrude was dead- Getrude was dead- Getrude died- Getrude died- 

Michael pushed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He needed to get rid of his eyes- Getrude had wanted to get rid of her eyes- did she? Why did she need to get rid of her eyes? 

The eye watched them- the eye watched everyone- the eye could tear them apart. The eye would ruin them one day.

The door the door the door the door the door he could open the door the door would open the door could get them out of here.

Michael couldn’t go into the door. People needed them. He was fairly certain of that.

Michael was at the store. Michael was buying something- they couldn’t remember what- but they needed to buy something.

Michael was driving. It wasn’t his car- though he couldn’t remember who it was. They thought they were going to research a statement, but they couldn’t remember which one.

There was a door in the road.

Michael swerved to avoid it, and someone screamed. He wasn’t alone in the car. Who was in the car? Sasha- Sasha was in the car. Why was Sasha afraid?

The car was falling, the car was falling, the car landed, the car was still falling-

Michael was back in the archives, time had passed, Michael had memories of being in the hospital, but they didn’t feel like theirs. 

Michael was saying something. The words felt forgein. John was looking at them. The doors weren’t there, so he could keep talking. He didn’t need to talk, he realised that after a moment, but the words felt nice to make.

After a while, Michael felt like they didn’t need to talk anymore, and John said something, and then said, “Statement ends.”

He was making a statement. About what? It was inconsequential, they supposed.

“It hurts,” Michael said. “But I’m not… there enough for it to hurt that badly.”

John sighed. “I- I don’t know what to do.”

Michael smiled. He had a feeling John had said that before. “I guess you don’t really need to. Whatever happens, happens.”

John shook his head. He looked so sad. “I’m so sorry, Michael.”

Michael laughed. “It hurts,” He said again. “I want it to end.”

John sighed. “I don’t think you’re competent enough to work.”

Michael felt angry at that, though they didn’t know why. “Of course not,” He said calmly. “I almost killed Sasha.”

John looked sad, still. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in the archives?”

Michael shrugged and left.

He was home again. Sunflower was sitting in his lap. There was a door. The door was open. In it, Michael could see colors he knew weren’t real, patterns he knew he couldn’t comprehend, ever. It was so cold. He didn’t want to be cold.

Sunflower started whimpering. He sounded scared. Michael wanted to tell him that it would be okay, but his mouth tasted like paper and food that didn’t exist.

Sunflower jumped off whatever he had been sitting on, and spun around in circles for a bit. Then, after a long look at Michael, went into the door.

It shut behind him. Then the door was gone.

The doors stayed away, after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *writes a chapter that takes place on my birthday* self care  
> *writes a character with my symptoms of a mental breakdown but like, magical breakdown* self care  
> IM SO SORRY FOR KILLING THE DOG. PLEASE DONT HURT ME


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some fun times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw for past manipulation mention, implied child abuse, achohol, anxiety

October 6, 2005

Michael walked home confused. He did appreciate Gerad’s gift, even though he’d been confused, he actually did love the colors and although he hadn’t tried it on, the fabric felt soft.

He hadn’t intended to make Gerad anxious, and felt bad. Maybe he should buy him a gift? What would he like? Would it be weird? He felt weird around Gerad. Gerad was smart and resourceful and Michael was decidedly not that. He felt eternally grateful for Gerad deciding to help him, even if he hadn’t actually shown it.

He unlocked his door and went to his computer. He briefly browsed shops in the area, guessing what Gerry would like. After a few minutes, he sighed and opened his email. He scrolled through his short list of contacts before selecting Emma.

Michael: Hey, I want to get Gerad a gift. Any ideas?

Emma responded unnervingly fast.

Emma: Hm. Any particular reason?

Michael sighed. This already felt like a mistake. They should have texted Sarah, but Emma was better with people.

Michael: He got me a headscarf. I figured I’d try and repay him?

Emma: Hmm. He’s sort of a mystery to me, to be honest. Maybe try and pick out a baked good for him? Or make one? He seems to like sweet things.

Michael put his head in his hands. What was he doing? Jesus christ. Gerad would probably think he was stupid. Still, he felt like he owed it to him.

Michael: Thanks!!! 

Michael didn’t really feel like baking, but they still got up to see what ingredients they had. Not a lot, so he got their coat to go and buy some.

He thought about what he’d make. Maybe Gerad would like brownies? Michael was pretty good at making brownies. He walked through the aisles, getting cocoa powder, flower, and baking chocolate, and then checked out. They walked back to their apartment and pulled out their recipe book. They didn’t really need to, they had the recipe pretty much memorized, but the familiar feel of the paper was a comfort.

They sang to themself as they mixed the ingredients. It was dark by the time the brownies were in the pan and the long shadows stretched across the kitchen as Michael put them in the oven. He set a timer and sat down to read.

The smell wafted through the kitchen, and Michael pulled the brownies out. They smelled delicious, and he set them out to cool.

—

The next day, Michael walked to work with a plastic bag filled with brownies inside his bag. He sat down to start his work.

Sarah walked in. “So, what’s the deal with Gerad?”

“W-what?” Michael stammered, nearly falling out of his chair.

“Emma said you were going to bake him something.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. He got me the uh, the headscarf I’m wearing.”

“That was nice.” She paused. “DID you make him anything?”

Michael suddenly felt judged. “Yeah! I made brownies.”

“Mm. Can I have one?”

“I- they’re not for you!”

“Please?” 

“No! Go get some from the cafe, or something.”

Emma walked in. “She cannot pass up free food.”

Sarah laughed. “Fine. I hope Gerad at least appreciates those brownies.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Hopefully.”

A few hours later, Michael was working, when he needed to ask Getrude for clarification about something. He didn’t think she was recording, so he knocked on her office door.

“Come in, Michael.” She sounded very tired.

“Uh- hi- Gertrude- I was wondering, for the follow up for Phillip Brown’s statement- the one about the prison- did you want me to follow up in the prison? Because there was already some done by Emma but they only covered visitation records in early 2001,” He said, walking in.

“Yes, Michael, that would be good.”

“Oh- uh- hi, Gerad!” 

The goth was sitting on Gertrude’s desk. They looked like they’d been talking about something.

Gerad looked up. “Oh, hey, Michael.”

“I- uh- I actually got you brownies.” He suddenly felt stupid. Well, more stupid.

“Huh?” 

“Like, um… brownies. Baked goods?” He supplied.

Gerad flushed. “Th-thanks, Michael.”

“Okay, if you want them, I’ll be in the archives.” Michael walked out, and felt himself blushing. King of awkward encounters, truly.

A few minutes later, that Michael spent staring at his notebook, Gerad walked out from Gertrude’s office. “Brownies, huh?” His voice had a note of humor in it.

“Oh, yeah, hold on.” Michael reached into his bag and pulled out the plastic bag with them.

Gerad took one out and took a bite. “That’s really good!”

“Be careful, if Gertrude sees you eating in the archives, she might burn you alive,” Michael joked.

Gerad laughed. “Guess I’d better get going, then.”

“Oh yeah- uh- thanks again for the headscarf!” 

Gerad nodded in return and walked out. Michael started at the door where he’d left for a while before snapping out of his haze and going to email the prison.

\--

Gerry walked out of the archives, chewing on a brownie. He was confused. What did Michael want? Usually, people (his mom) had a clear goal of what they wanted him to do, but Michael HAD no clear goal.

Gerry paused. Was Michael running a long game? What did he hope to gain? It probably wasn’t anything fear related, but he could be an avatar of the web-

Or maybe Michael was hoping to manipulate him for his own goals. The dude seemed pretty calm, but it could all be a facade-

Well, according to Sarah, he’d always been pretty nice, and if he’d been working in the archives for a year and a half and actually working at the institute for three years, that would be a pretty long game.

Maybe he was just finally showing his true colors. The most surface-level kind people could be the most dangerous. He’d studied enough people marked by the Slaughter and the Hunt to know that. Or really any entity, actually.

Maybe he should get Michael something in return. If they stayed even, he wouldn’t have anything to be in debt with Michael for. Or maybe that’s what he wanted? Build up a friendship, then take whatever it was he wanted?

Or maybe he really was just being nice.

Or maybe-

Jesus Christ, Gerad, He thought. Just get the boy something.

Gerry walked down the sidewalk. He again, annoyingly, had nothing to do, so he wandered aimlessly. Maybe he could look for work. Then again, a stable job would be hard to hold if he had to leave at the last moment.

Finding work in the country was so much easier. Not that he’d ever been there for more than a few days, but there was always someone looking for an odd job to get done.

He sighed. Could he even afford to GET Michael anything? He was down to his last 50 Euros. So, no. He could not.

He had enough money for one more night’s hotel bill. After that, he was on his own.

Fuck.

He’d ask Getrude to stay with her. It wasn’t a horrible idea, no matter how annoying she could be. 

Maybe Gerry could get Michael a bagel. Cheap, effective. It was almost four, so Michael had probably eaten lunch already. He’d get him one tomorrow. Gerry sighed. He guessed he had to go back to the archives and ask if he could stay with Getrude.

He walked back to the institute and pushed the archives door open. 

Sarah was walking out at the same time. “Gerad! Perfect.”

Michael sighed. “Don’t rope him into this.”

“Rope me into what?” Gerry asked.

“Do you want to go out for drinks at five?” Sarah asked, ignoring Michael.

“What?” Gerad asked.

“You know. Drinks. Booze. Alcohol,” Sarah replied.

Gerry felt himself blushing. “I- I don’t know.”

“Please?” 

Michael sighed. Gerry didn’t know how to tell Sarah he didn’t actually have an ID. He WAS twenty-two, but he didn’t have an ID. Because, the whole, not-legally-existing thing.

So he didn’t. “Fine.”

Sarah grinned. “Perfect.”

Gerry laughed and looked over at Michael. “Did she also rope Emma into this?”

“It was Emma’s idea, Sarah just bullied me into coming.” 

Gerry knew there was no way Getrude was coming, so he didn’t ask.

Speaking of the devil, Getrude walked in. “If you all are going to go out for drinks- actually WORK for the next hour, please?”

Sarah laughed. “Got it, Gertie!”

She sighed. “I’m giving you a day off tomorrow, don’t make me regret it.”

“What, are you going to go fight monsters?” Emma asked, jokingly.

Getrude rolled her eyes. “No. I have an important meeting tomorrow, and I need you all out of the archives.”

“That’s not ominous,” Sarah said. “Anyway, we’ll try our best to pay attention and NOT procrastinate.

Getrude rolled her eyes again. “I suppose that’s the best I can ask for.”

Michael laughed while Getrude shut the door.

Gerry snorted. “I’ll just read a book in the break room, I guess.”

Michael smiled. “I hope you enjoy your book!”

Sarah hit him with her folder, which led to a soft, ‘Ow’. “C’mon! We have to work.”

\--

An hour later, they were walking to the bar.

“I am NOT doing shots,” Emma rolled her eyes when Sarah suggested it. “I’m too old.”

“You’re fifty-six!” Sarah protested.

“I am OLD.”

“You came to the bar!”

“Okay, that isn’t an invitation to do SHOTS.”

“Just some shots.”

“A smidget of shots,” Michael added.

“A dash of shots,” Gerry threw in.

“Shut up, millennials,” Emma grumbled.

This made Gerry laugh so hard he almost cried. 

“We’re Gen X!” Michael said. “I think. How old are you, Gerad?”

“Uh…. 22.” Gerry felt uncomfortable not lying, but there was really no point.

“Okay, yeah. We’re both Gen X, Emma.”

“Gen X-ers,” Emma grumbled.

“Shut up, boomer,” Sarah half-laughed.

They reached the bar, and thankfully didn’t get carded.

“C’mon, guys! It won’t be bad! Even if Emma doesn’t do shots!” Michael said.

Gerry laughed as he walked in. 

They found a booth and ordered drinks and onion rings. 

“These are disgusting.” Sarah gagged as she took a bite.

“No, they’re not,” Emma replied, pulling the bowl towards her.

“So you won’t do shots but you’ll eat these?”

“When you get older, you crave shit food. That’s how things are.”

“I’m not sure that's how it works.”

Gerry laughed. “Okay, Emma, I actually do not care whether or not you do shots, but if we do, I am NOT paying. I have fifty euros to my name.”

Michael smiled. “It’s okay. Sarah commited the most crimes last week, so she has to.”

Gerry was not expecting that. “I’m sorry- what?”

“If we go over twenty euros, Emma has to split the cost with me, as she committed the second most crimes last week,” Sarah said, matter-of-factly.

Gerry laughed so hard his stomach hurt. “I- how many crimes do you all commit?”

“A lot. Misdemeanors, mostly,” Sarah replied.

“MOSTLY?” Gerry started laughing again.

“There was that one time-” 

“Okay, okay, let's do shots,” Emma interrupted.

“Whooo!” Sarah cheered.

They ordered a round. Gerry wasn’t used to drinking shots, and he winced as the hot liquor rolled down his throat.

“This tastes horrible.” He commented as he finished.

“Yeah. But it’s cheap and gets us drunk quick!” Michael already had a slightly hazy gleam to his eyes.

“Mmm. So what are everyone’s plans for tomorrow?” Emma asked.

“Oh! My sister got a cat! I’m going to go see her cat!” Sarah said excitedly.

Michael blushed. “I love cats! And dogs. I used to have a dog as a kid.”

They talked about the nuances of cats versus dogs as they gradually became drunker because of shots. At the suggestion of a fourth round, Gerry shut them down, still having a semblance of conciseness left.

“Absolutely not. You are featherweights,” He said.

“Okay- fine. Wait. Wait. Did they just turn on karaoke?” Sarah turned her head towards the stage.

“I’m too old for this,” Emma grumbled.

“Wait no seriously we need to do it.” Sarah stood up.

“Jesus Christ, Sarah.” Michael laughed.

“No, no. I’m singing it. Gerad, come with me.”

“NO.” He said sternly.

“No, come with me.”

Gerad sighed. He’d probably regret this. “Alright, fine.”

And they sung the god-awful karaoke, until Michael joined in and even Emma for one song, and they were all flushed red and exhausted.

“God, we need to call it a night,” Sarah yawned after probably about… three hours? Four? Of karaoke and drinking.

“I’m with you,” Emma agreed. “Cmon, let’s go get a cab.”

Michael was flushed. “Mmm. Love you guys.”

Gerry laughed. When he stood up, he stumbled a little. “C’mon, Michael.” Then he remembered something. “Shit. I don’t have anywhere to stay tonight.”

Michael looked up, tiredly. “Mmm. I have a place. You can stay with me.” He hummed a little.

“What?”

“I said. You can stay at my place. I don’t have a guest room but I do have a couch. It’s pretty cozy.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Emma walked out. She was the most sober, but still stumbled a little. “Great. Let’s go.”

They went and called a cab that drove them to Michael’s flat. Emma and Sarah waved and continued their way back to their own apartments.

“C‘mon,” He took out his key and fumbled with the lock for a moment before opening it. “Home sweet home.”

Michael pointed to the opposing rooms. “The bathroom is over there, the kitchen is over there, drink some water before you go to sleep, and I’ll be over there.”

“Hold on, I’ll get you some water.” He walked to the other room and got two glasses and filled them up. He handed one to Gerry, who took it gratefully, and drank one himself.

“Wait, I’ll show to you your room.” He walked back into the hallway and pushed open a door.

Gerry followed him into the room. It was a small study, covered in paintings. The walls were covered in paintings, the floor had works in progresses, and the corners were filled with painting supplies.

“Michael… Did you do these?” He stared in wonder at the canvases depicting beautiful scenes that made little sense.

“Hm? Yeah. I’m not that good at people, but I like abstract art and landscapes. And animals! They’re fun to do.” Michael was smoothing out blankets on a couch in the middle of the room. It had some paint splatters on it, but it was very comfortable and wasn’t too short to lie down on, unlike most couches.

“They’re beautiful.”

“Oh- uh- thanks! It’s not that hard, once you get used to it.”

“Take the compliment.”

Michael laughed at that. “Alright, well, I’m gonna go to sleep. Please don’t drunkenly destroy any of my works.”

Gerry smiled. “I appreciate the responsibility, but you are way more drunk than I am.”

Micheal giggled. “Fair enough. Goodnight!”

Michael left, and after going to the bathroom and drinking another glass of water, Gerry went to sleep on the couch, staring through the dim lighting at the paintings on the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get to write a fluff chapter after the shit show that was chapter 7, I think. Anyway I’ve been informed I’m writing this in sort of a slow burn way. Will it stay slow burn? Only time will tell. Anyway it’s like 11 pm and I have to be productive in nine hours and I just sprayed bactine in my eyes by accident so it’s time to sleep


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of a month, told by two things.
> 
> CW for: canon-typical worms, gore, breathing issues, memory loss, very brief mention of racism and misogyny, blindness, carbon monoxide poisoning, brief mention of hospitals and implied coma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhahaha this chapter got long af. It gets pretty heavy, so if I missed any CWs, please let me know.

June 18, 2016

It took Michael a month to go back to the institute.

He’d known he couldn’t quit, but he didn’t… want to go back. But he needed to.

It was like as a child, when he wouldn’t eat vegetables for days, but then he’d start to feel sick, and finally cave in and eat some salad his mom offered him. Except way worse.

Sasha, Tim, and John came to check on him. Martin didn’t leave the archives, but he called Michael. They didn’t ask about Sunflower after the first time they visited. Michael couldn’t remember what he’d told them, his mind was still a foggy haze from before the past week, but they looked at him sympathetically. Or maybe that was for different reasons.

For the last week, he hadn’t been able to sleep, and constantly had a coppery taste in their mouth. Breathing was hard, and their vision swam with the pulsing of their headache. Had they not been the servant of literally the spookiest place on earth, he probably would have gone to the doctor and attempted to get help. However, knowing it was probably super spooky withdrawal, he was determined to keep this up until they died or worked up the motivation to walk back to the institute.

In the end, on June 18th, Michael decided to leave the house and go to the institute. It took him thirty minutes to find his glasses before finding them shoved under a book. He hadn’t left the house once, the archives gang brought him food, and he winced as the bright light hit him.

It was warmer than it had been, and he felt sweat roll down his face. 

He walked to the institute, legs shaking. He wasn’t worried about not having a job to go back to, it’s not like they could fire them, and opened the door. It was early, around 8:30 AM.

“Good morning, Rosie,” Michael said as he walked in.

“Michael!” She looked at him, light confusion passing over her face. “How have you been?”

They cleared their throat. “Good. How have you been?” He wondered if he’d done anything in front of her in the past two months he should know about.

“Good. Are you going to the Archives?” 

“Yes.”

She nodded, and he continued on his way.

He opened the door to the Archives.

“Hello?” John’s voice came from the back of the room. He’d finally decided not to lock himself away in his office, then.

“Hey, John,” Michael responded.

“Are you still… working here? I thought you quit.”

Michael frowned. He didn’t know why John had thought that, he certainly hadn’t given his two week’s notice. “Yes. Why?”

John looked at him. “Elias said he wasn’t sure if you’d be coming back.”

Michael frowned. Ah. He knew exactly what he meant. “Well, I am back.”

Looking closer, John looked even more tired than normal. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and he seemed to have even more gray hairs than before. Michael hadn’t really paid attention during John’s visits, and they’d always been short, under thirty minutes or so, but he looked like a wreck.

“Are you okay?” Walking further into the room, he saw papers scattered around where John was sitting. He had a book open, and was furiously typing something.

“Yes. I’m just… looking at something.”

“What are you looking at?”

John sighed. He stopped typing and looked directly at Michael. “I’m looking at statements connected to anything… similar to the Gerad.”

Michael straightened. “John-”

“You almost DIED, Michael. And you didn’t talk for weeks. You didn’t talk when we came to visit you, you kept throwing up but REFUSED to go to the hospital, we called an AMBULANCE- your dog is gone and you have NOTHING to say about it-”

Michael flinched. They didn’t know how bad it had been, barely even remembered anything. But they felt the irritated and sore skin covering most of their body, and felt an ache that settled deeper. “I’m sorry.”

John’s expression shifted to one of pity instead of anger. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

They stood there in silence. Michael stared at the wall behind John and John turned back to his computer.

“Do you think it’s him?” John said, quietly.

“I’m sorry?” John rarely asked for anything else besides Michael’s professional opinions on issues relating to their work, certainly hadn’t asked him if he BELIEVED any of them.

“Do you think that Gerad is Gerad Keay.” He didn’t say it like a question.

Michael didn’t respond for a long time. John kept looking at him, and it made him want to run. Eventually, he took a deep breath and met his gaze. “I think that Gerad is Gerry Keay as the flesh hive is Jane Prentiss.” He didn’t try to explain it. He still felt entirely too numb to try and rationalize it.

John sighed. “I wish I’d met him.”

“Who?”

“Gerad Keay. Sasha and Tim knew him. He sounded like a good person.”

Michael felt himself crumble a little. A little bit of the stony wall built around himself, chipped away. “He was a great person. An idiot. Reckless.” He snorted. “Still a lovely person.”

“It’s surprising that I didn’t meet him. I started here in 2009, I should have.”

Michael didn’t bother explaining that Archives people simply didn’t interact in meaningful ways with non-archives people. They didn’t live long enough, and the knowledge of that was enough for Sarah, Emma, Gerry, and Getrude to completely push anyone else away. And while Tim and Sasha had known Gerry and Michael, they hadn’t really KNOWN them. It was a brief hi, office gossip drifting from each other. Instead he shrugged. “I feel like you would have gotten along.”

John looked down at his laptop screen again. “Maybe.”

Michael nodded. He was about to ask if there was any work he had to catch up on, which was an abrupt subject change, but he felt the feeling like fire was creeping through his nervous system coming on again, when the door to the back room of the archives opened again. They turned around, and saw Martin walking through the doorway.

“Hey, John, I-” He looked up. “Michael!

Michael waved. It was very halfhearted, but honestly, the whole conversation was already making him tired. He just wanted to get back into work so his head stopped feeling like it was splitting open.

“How are you?” Martin walked over, putting the tea he was holding on the desk. The tired librarian inside Michael wanted to yell at Martin for bringing tea inside the archives, but he Simply Did Not Have The Energy.

Michael shrugged. The whole conversation was going on for much longer than it needed to.

Martin walked over to him. “Are you coming back?”

Michael realised he was talking about WORKING at the archives, not physically leaving. “I never left.”

Martin looked confused, and then his gaze shifted over to John. They exchanged eye contact for a moment, which Michael felt THOROUGHLY confused during, and then he just left. He figured there’d be something for him to do, later, but John had to make it over his confusion first. When he was walking down the hallway, pressing his hand to a spot in his ribcage where it felt like something was trying to cut it’s way out, he ran into Elias.

Like, literally ran into. Which made Michael’s head swim and Elias let out a small noise, given that Michael was about eight inches taller than him.

“Ah,” Elias rubbed at his shirt, smoothing it out. “Michael. I was just coming to find you.”

“To what do I, ah, owe the pleasure?” Colors swam in front of their eyes.

“I’m glad to see that you are back.”

Michael stared at him. 

“How’s your health?” Elias’s voice had only a touch of amusement in it, and if Michael wasn’t used to Elias being an absolute dick, he probably would have fallen for the “sympathetic boss” act.

“As well as can be expected.”

Elias smiled. “So you realised, didn’t you?”

Michael didn’t respond.

“It will, likely, kill you if you try to leave the institute again.”

“I didn’t try to leave-”

“I know. Just took a break.” Elias’s eyes were cold.

Michael felt a stab of pain in his head.

“I wouldn’t recommend trying to take a break again, however. I’m not even sure dying would be an option for you at this point.” Elias considered him a moment. “There’s a statement in John’s office, in the second shelf of the bookshelf to the left of his door. Sasha’s notes clarify what needs to be researched further. If you leave now, you can get the statement without John noticing.”

Michael grunted with pain. He didn’t respond, simply turned back around to the archives. He opened the door to John’s office, head spinning with the pain.

He rummaged around the bookshelf for a while, white spots in his vision nearly blinding him, but eventually he grasped what he thought to be a statement. He looked at it, walking back to his desk, and skimmed the statement. He already felt his headache begin to subside, and he sighed in relief. 

He already felt much better when he began to examine the notes and the file that came with it. It was one of those things where people don’t realise how hungry they are until they take the first bite. Michael needed to know about the statement, and when he’d finished his notes on how to get what had been asked for, he hungered to read more.

He wandered around the archives. He knew he needed to finish the research for the other statement, but at the moment he was currently still fighting a headache, and wanted to find another new statement from the past month. Thankfully, he found one fairly quickly, and set down to read it. All the research had already been done on the statement while he was gone, so it was simply a matter of knowing what had happened.

He sighed in relief when he finally felt completely better in a way he hadn’t felt in a month. He realised, as his thoughts became less muddled, that he was likely to make people concerned with his sudden reappearance.

Michael sighed. There was nothing to be done about that. Sarah, Emma, Getrude and Gerry had disappeared many times and hadn’t told anyone where they’d been, he’d simply have to do that. Even if John was completely out of the loop, he thought with a stab of guilt.

Actually, Michael doubted John would leave it alone at all.

He’d understand eventually. Hopefully.

Michael felt guilty again for not telling anyone what to do. He’d had a month of relief from the nagging worry, if not having to deal with other things, but now that his head was clear again, he was thinking about it. Maybe he’d die before he could tell anyone.

It wasn’t a horrific thought. As much as it would have horrified Michael a couple of years ago, the thought was comforting. Even if things were terrible, he’d die in the end. When things were chaotic, he could always count on the finality of death.

Well, Michael thought, it wasn’t final for Gerry.

Well, Michael countered, Gerry didn’t actually DIE.

Well, Michael countered again, What did happen to him?

Michael didn’t know what to think about that.

He sighed and walked back over to his desk. Sasha had written on the side of the statement that she needed pictures of the house it had taken place in, so he opened his computer to find some.

The house wasn’t anything special, if not slightly dreary-looking. He checked the address, and clicked to print the photos. Michael liked having paper copies of things, even if John DID constantly complain about how it was harder to organize things. The archives were still a mess anyway, it didn’t really matter that Michael liked having physical things to hold. Besides, a fire wouldn’t destroy all of the physical statements, but a virus might destroy the digital statements.

The point was, it was important to have many different copies.

Michael had liked doing field work, but he hadn’t done it much since Getrude died and wasn’t eager to start at the moment. So he attached the photos to the file and stared at a long time at the attached note saying that someone should visit the train station mentioned in the statement, as it was only a couple of minutes away and good photos weren’t available online.

Michael sighed. He’d probably have to go talk to John and Martin, and he’d need to talk to Sasha and Tim when they showed up. It was a drag.

He didn’t want to explain what had happened. He didn’t even really want to admit to HIMSELF what happened.

So he didn’t. When Sasha and Tim came in, he avoided their questions by simply not answering them and walking out of the room. This strategy of avoidance worked quite well, actually. He went home that night feeling better than he had in a month. Well, physically. The worry still bit at his stomach.

He walked through his front door, and saw the leashes hanging on the coat rack.

The sadness bit at him like teeth.

He reached for them before stopping his hand midway through the air.

Would it become like Gerry’s stuff, still in the closet, unmoved, years later? Another trophy to who he’d lost?

Michael had never worked through his grief. Not in the years since everything had happened. He’d visited Emma, Sarah, Getrude, and Gerry’s graves, but never anything further.

He supposed it was counterproductive that his grief was the thing stopping him from going to therapy. But what would he even say, at this point? I think I’m enslaved to an eldritch monster that led to three of my friend's deaths? And one becoming another eldritch monster?

No. That was a quick track to becoming institutionalized.

He supposed he could try and use non specific language, but Michael had never been good at “holding some things back”. It was all or nothing.

Michael realized that he’d wandered to his kitchen. It was only five, too early to make dinner, but my habit, he’d opened the cabinet to get Sunflower’s food.

He slammed it shut.

Eventually he’d have to throw it out, but the bag had been sealed well enough that for now, he didn’t need to worry about mold. Which meant it could stay there.

Michael flopped down on the couch and scrolled through his phone. He’d checked it occasionally, but now he had hundreds of text notifications. Most of them were just spam, but occasionally he’d find a text from the “Archives Anarchists” that he needed to answer. Even if most of them were three weeks old.

Thirty minutes in with only a small dent into his texts and emails, he sighed and put his phone down. Michael tossed his head down on his pillow and shut his eyes.

The thought of trying to catch up from when he was gone was so overwhelming. He didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if his bills for May hadn’t been prepaid.

He’d need to clean the flat. And probably buy groceries. And figure out what his work schedule would be.

It was so tiring, and before long, he fell asleep.

\--

Michael woke up suddenly, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He’d been trapped in a dream of bright hallways and burning doors. 

They grasped for their glasses that had fallen off, groaning softly at the blooming headache.

The last washes of terror were fading away, but he was still shaking slightly, and he spent a long moment taking deep breaths to calm themself down.

When Michael felt better, he glanced at the clock. It was 1:47 AM.

He stood up, quietly, before remembering with a pang there was no one to disturb, and walked into the kitchen.

Michael turned on the lights and looked in the refrigerator to see what he had. They weren’t very hungry, but after not eating of their own free will for as long as he could remember, they should probably eat something, if not only to get back into routine.

He had eggs. That was a relief.

He pulled out a pan and two eggs, then made scrambled eggs. He sprinkled a little bit of rosemary for taste, and then ate them.

They tasted sort of like sawdust, but he chewed them anyway. He then drank some water, which also tasted like sawdust.

Great.

He was exhausted again, despite only having been up for twenty minutes, so he just went back to sleep.

\--

And so his days continued. Sasha, Tim, and John took him out for lunch sometimes, but other than that, he was barely doing anything besides eating, sleeping, and working.

He didn’t pull late nights anymore. He was exhausted from the moment he got up in the morning from when he went to sleep, and didn't stay a second longer than he needed to.

He didn’t try to protect anyone anymore, either. He didn’t steer them away from when he knew was dangerous, instead letting them engage with whatever they saw fit. 

He still felt the constant guilt for not telling them what he knew. But it was more of a dull throb, rather than stabbing. A healing bruise, rather than a fresh cut.

He did, however, continue to come in every day. It made him feel weak to do a five day work week, and everyone else only encouraged him to take breaks, rather than physically barring him as they’d done with John a couple of times. The worms covered the institute lawn now. At some point, someone had gotten CO2 extinguishers for the archives.

He healed quickly, and his senses slowly stopped being dulled, though his taste didn’t come back for weeks. The others asked questions, but his strategy of avoidance continued well enough.

The doors didn’t come back, and Michael didn’t clean out the flat.

\--

July 28th, 2016

Michael was reading about Jane Prentiss’s case. It was 11 PM and the archives were silent. Everyone else had gone home long ago, Tim had even locked up, not realising Michael was still there.

He was hunched over the statement, taking notes and occasionally googling things.

His eyes were heavy, and they yawned on more breaths than not.

Michael hadn’t seen Martin in hours, and assumed he had gone to sleep early. Fair enough.

Michael had his private notebook out. He’d started, subconsciously, to categorize the statements by what they involved.

INSECTS AND SICKNESS, he had written on his notebook. Underneath, in underlined words, JANE PRENTISS?

He hadn’t figured out many more. He had: LONELY AND FOG, HUNTED, VIOLENCE, DEATH, but still, it was a decent start. He also had, TWISTING MADNESS, and underneath that: GERRY?

It made sense with everything he’d seen. He tried to ignore the pulsing guilt that came from doing so. It was background noise, at this point.

\--

Michael must have fallen asleep, at some point, because he woke up to a scream. “Sasha, Run! RUN!”

He sat up immediately, banging his head against the wall.

They rubbed the blooming bruise, hissing in pain.

The bright light stung his eyes and his back ached, but he stood up, nearly falling out of his chair.

The worms.

They COVERED the ground, writhing and crawling. Michael felt fear shoot through him like a gun.

He glanced towards the door. It led to the hallway, and in a few moments he could be outside and far away from the institute. They stared at it. The temptation to run was strong, but another scream shocked him out of his stupor.

He ran to the office. The screaming was coming from John’s office. Horror sank into him like lead weights as he ran over the worm covered ground.

He heard Sasha, John, and Martin on the other side of the door as he jiggled the handle, but the adrenaline was pumping too hard for him to make out what they were saying.

“Let me in!” Michael shouted, banging on the door.

Someone pushed the curtain aside. Sasha. “Michael?”

He stopped hitting the door as it opened.

John was clutching a fire extinguisher and spraying it. Martin was fiddling with the lock on the back room, and Sasha reached for a fire extinguisher and handed it to him.

“The lock’s stuck!” Martin said. His voice was shrill from panic.

“Shit, hold on.” Michael pulled out the knife in his bag. He was relieved he hadn’t taken the bag off before.

Michael sighed sharply. The lock was thick, but so was the knife. He’d just hoped it would work. It was the room leading to statements more than 150 years old, and they held significant historical value, so Getrude had insisted on locks in case of thieves. They hadn’t been replaced since 2004, though.

He whittled through the bolt, and he was dimly aware of an alarm going off. Whether it was an intruder alert or a fire alarm, he couldn’t be sure.

“Michael! Hurry up!” John barked. The CO2 wasn’t spraying out, they must have ran out.

After about seven minutes of struggling, the metal finally tore. 

Michael pushed it open, then as soon as the others went in, followed and slammed it shut.

John fell to the ground immediately. Martin ran to his side and started shouting something, and Sasha followed.

Michael ran to the closet. It was filled with towels, because despite how much John and Getrude had both pushed that fluids and foods weren’t allowed in the old statements room, they’d all brought them in.

He stuffed towels under the doors and walked around the room to make sure there were no worms on the ground, then came back to where everyone else was.

“John’s leg is banged up pretty badly.” Sasha had rolled up John's pant leg, and was examining a bruise underneath. “And… the worms are… in him. Shit- Michael- can we use your knife?”

“No need,” Martin replied. “Here, I have a corkscrew.”

“A corkscrew?” Michael stayed standing up.

“Hold, on, shit, we don’t have time-” John groaned and grabbed it from Martin. “Sasha, give me your hand.”

She stuck it out, and wordlessly, John grabbed it. There were worms crawling in the flesh, and he made quick work of them. Sasha let out a small whimper, but didn’t complain. He moved to her face and ankles, next. Blood welled where the skin had been broken. “Check yourselves for them,” He said to the rest of them.

Michael pulled back his sleeves. He saw them crawling through his flesh, and the adrenaline subsided and the stinging pain became real.

It hurt so much, but he didn’t let himself show it. Instead, still feeling strangely distant, rolled up his pant legs to see worms crawling under the skin. He lifted up his shirt a little as well, but didn’t see any worms.

John finished cutting the worms out of Sasha, then turned to Martin and did the same to him. Martin shouted a little, but stayed quiet afterward.

“Michael?” John’s voice was shaking, but he still kept strangely stoic.

“Yeah, hold on. They’re on my leg, hands, and, uh, like everyone, my face.”

John nodded and cut the worms out of him. Michael had to fight the urge to scream. He felt trapped again, back in the back alley’s of a foggy London street as a knife was held to his throat and eyes…

As soon as it started, it was over. 

“Sasha,” John said, voice shaking. “I need you to cut them out of me.”

“Can do, boss.”

John shouted louder than the rest of them, but considering everything, he was pretty calm.

There was a moment of tense silence, then John turned to Martin. “Do you have a tape?”

Martin stared at him. “Yeah, why?”

“Turn it on.”

Martin pulled a tape recorder out of his bag, and after a second they heard the telltale click of it being turned on.

“Why do you even HAVE these?” Sasha asked after a moment. “Drinking in the archives? I wouldn’t blame you, being here for so long would be stressful.”

“Oh… I uh…” Martin paused. “It’s for pulling out worms. It’s more effective than a knife. They only go so deep, and they’re small and easy to spear and…”

He paused and looked around. “Look, you guys got to go home every day, okay. I didn’t! I’ve been thinking for a long time about what to do when… well, y’know, this happens.”

“No, I…” Michael spoke for the first time in several minutes. “Thank you.”

“That’s why we’re in here?” Sasha said.

“Yeah, it’s climate controlled, sealed pretty well, I checked. You didn’t need the towels, Michael,” Martin replied.

They shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

There was silence for a few moments. The alarm that Michael heard earlier was quieter in the room.

Sasha sighed. “Why record it?”

John looked up from the bruise on his leg, which he had been poking at random parts. “What?”

“You went back for… for the tape.”

John stared at Sasha for a moment. They didn’t break eye contact. Michael felt uncomfortable.

Eventually, John straightened. “I… I need a record. Of what happened.”

“What?” Martin looked up from the ground.

John shook his head. “I don’t… want to become another goddamn mystery. This place- I know it sounds silly, but-”

Michael almost laughed. “No, I get it. This place has too many mysteries as it is. If we die-”

“-I don’t want nobody knowing what happened to us,” John finished.

“That's certainly optimistic,” Martin chimed in, at the same time Sasha said, “We aren’t going to die.”

John snorted. “Right. Maybe just end up in the hospital for blood loss.”

They laughed.

John’s expression turned grim. “Every real statement… it turns into something deeper, doesn’t it? Michael, haven’t you noticed?”

Michael sighed. “John… I-”

Sasha cut them off. Good thing, because they had no idea what to say. “What do you mean by real statements?”

John almost stood up, but his leg couldn’t take his weight. “The statements that lead into something… deeper.” He said again. “The ones that can’t be disproved. The ones that don’t record on the computer, only on the tapes. At this point, if it records on the computer, I don’t bother. Anyway, if someone finds these tapes, especially my replacement, they’ll quit.”

Michael didn’t bother correcting him.

Martin laughed bitterly. “You think so?”

John sighed. “I hope so. Only an idiot would stay in this job.”

“Wouldn’t that make us idiots?”

“Yes, Martin, that was my point.”

Martin stood up and went to the window.

“Can you see what’s going on out there?” Sasha asked, walking over.

Martin shrugged. “Sort of? When was this last cleaned?”

“Not since Gertrude,” Michael responded.

“Well, uh,” Martin squinted. “It looks like she’s stopped.”

“Stopped?” Sasha pushed him aside. “Shit.”

“What?” Michael looked over to them.

“She’s just… standing there. None of her worms are moving, either.” Martin pushed a hand against his forehead. “What is she doing?”

They stood there for a few moments. John was so silent for the first time that for a moment Michael thought he’d fallen asleep.

Then Michael realised something. “She’s waiting.”

“Waiting for WHO?” John sounded annoyed, but there was a hint of panic in his voice.

“Tim.” Michael was certain.

“Oh my god!” Sasha pushed herself back from the door. “Where is he?”

“Lunch?” Martin guessed.

“Someone call him!”

There was a moment where they sifted through their bags and went to their phones.

Martin was the first to speak. “No service.”

Michael sighed. “We’ll just have to hope he heard the noise.”

They stood in silence for a moment. The alarm was still going off, and Michael’s head was starting to hurt.

“Why were you here, Michael?” John asked.

“What?” Sasha looked over from where she’d been pacing near the window.

“Why were you here today? You didn’t come in.”

Michael sighed. “I fell asleep here last night. I was… reading.”

“Really, Michael? I asked you not to overwork yourself-”

“Is this really the time to be talking about that? We might all die, you know.”

“Well, you could have died well rested.” Martin added.

There was a pause.

John sighed. “Is there anything you all want to confess? Before, you know…”

Sasha laughed. “I dyed my hair green in high school.”

“Really?” Michael looked over.

“Yeah. It actually looked awesome, but it’s hard enough being a woman and a south asian in academia already, so I washed it out.”

“You need to show us pictures,” John said, quietly.

Sasha smiled. “I have them on my computer. I’ll show them to you when we get out.”

It was a promise, almost.

Sasha turned towards the door and her face suddenly became alight with panic. “Tim!”

“What?” Martin turned towards the door.

“He’s still out there! He’s walking towards the institute… he doesn’t see them! He doesn’t see her!”

“TIM!” Michael screamed. It was suddenly real. It would only take a couple of seconds for the worms to tear him apart, faster if Prentiss herself got close enough…

“It’s no use! It’s soundproof!” John said. His voice was filled with panic.

“He’s getting closer. Fuck, fuck!” Sasha sounded almost like she might cry. Michael wanted to comfort her, but there was nothing he could DO. There was nothing any of them could do as the worms started to swarm near the entrance, ready to attack Tim as soon as the door that he was rapidly approaching was opened.

“Fuck it.” Sasha opened the door, and with a look back at the rest of them, opened it and ran towards Tim.

“Sasha!” Martin screamed. He looked like he wanted to follow her, but Michael shook his head.

“Stay with John. I’ll follow her,” He said quickly, then ran out after her.

The smell was horrible. It was a thousand times more putrid than it had been before. It was one of rotting flesh, blood, and 2:45 AM American public bathrooms.

He gagged and kept following Sasha. He thought, distantly, that he’d left his bag in the old statements room, but they figured if they died they wouldn’t need it, anyway.

She was running fast, and the floor was slippery with worms, so when Sasha opened the door to tackle Tim, Michael wasn’t fast enough to be on the other side before Jane Prentiss surged around the corner.

“Do you hear their song?” Her voice was almost melodious, and Michael could almost swear he could hear the quiet screaming of thousands.

“Tim, Sasha, RUN-” They looked over at Michael, just before he threw themself on Jane Prentiss.

The pain was immediate and consuming. He could feel the creatures bury into his flesh, tearing him apart. Jane laughed like she had just heard a joke. Michael was taller than her, but the worms that had slipped into her muscle and bone had made her stronger, and she easily threw him off.

Michael wanted to scream, but he felt them cutting into his throat and mouth, little seeds of pain that expanded through his body.

The smell was everywhere, and he threw up a little, but he still shakily pulled himself to his feet.

The screaming was in his EARS, and he could hear Sasha’s voice, but the screaming was too loud to make out anything specific.

Michael realised his knife was still in his pocket, and he pulled it out. His arm was weak, but he managed a swing towards Prentiss’s face. She screamed in anger as it cut through her cheek, and Michael caught a glimpse of her rotting teeth before the worms bit into his eyes and the blood drowned out his vision.

He stumbled around the room. He couldn’t SEE, and it was so LOUD but also too quiet and he couldn't breathe. They were filling his lungs and he fell to the ground and his LEG was hurting and his skin was being pulled away…

He managed to make it into another room. He dragged himself to a corner and curled up on the ground. It was too loud to think, but it was colder in there.

He felt the excruciating itching pain of the worms, and if he hadn’t spent his last ounce of energy dragging himself across the floor, he would have needed to scratch himself.

Michael laid on the ground. The screaming pierced his ears like needles, and they felt tears fall from his eyes.

Then, the air was suddenly thick. The alarm was louder than the screaming of the worms, which was slowly starting to… become quieter?

Michael hardly had a moment to think before he stopped being able to breathe. The air burned against his lungs.

Oh, the CO2. Of course, they thought.

Michael started coughing, which turned to throwing up. They felt the worms in his mouth be swept away, which was a small relief. 

It burned. It burned worse than fire, because at least someone could get away from the flames.

Michael had a moment where he thought, maybe, they’d miss him. He regretted not telling anyone about the fears, briefly, before blacking out.

\--

The Archivist’s Pet was in pain. So much pain. It coiled around him, worse than the spirals that coiled around Gerad. It could save them, save Michael.

So Gerad made a door. Gerad did not want to make more doors, Gerad thought that Michael did not really like them that much, and besides, Gerad had already gotten it’s fill of fear from Michael. 

Gerad held the Archivist’s Pet in his hands, and pulled him through the door.

The hallways hurt Michael further, but Michael could not feel it that much. Michael was already torn by the worms, which Gerad did not like. It pulled the worms out of Michael, which made Michael bleed. Gerad didn’t want to make Michael bleed.

Gerad knew it had to get the Archivist’s Pet to the hospital. So it pulled Michael through the hallways. The hallways made sense, enough, to him.

Michael had been taller than Gerry, but nothing mattered in the hallways, and he twisted his form to easily carry Michael. At one point, Michael stirred, and Gerad looked down at them and muttered something that did not matter that made him sleep again.

Sleeping, Gerad thought, nervously. They are only sleeping. They will wake.

Gerad reached the end of the hallway, and made a door to bring Michael out into the hospital. 

It made it’s form human enough to get through, but still not human enough to carry the Archivist’s Pet without much difficulty.

“Hello, sir? Can I…” The person at the front desk looked over at Gerad, then trailed off. They stared at the blood that covered Michael.

“He is hurt.” Gerad was annoyed at the hesitation. “Help them.”

The person at the front desk was terrified. They covered it well, but not well enough, and Gerad basked in the fear as they pulled up a radio. They said something relevant but largely inconsequential and a stretcher was pulled out by more people. They asked for Michael and the part of Gerad that was still human let them have him.

After an amount of time, the person at the front desk said that Michael would likely wake up, but he’d lost a lot of blood and had bad carbon monoxide poisoning. They, who were named Katherine, asked what had happened.

Gerad responded to call the Magnus Institute and ask for Elias Bouchard, and left. He considered letting the hallways have Katherine, but they had been nice.

\--

It was many days before Michael woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gerry POV!!!! I love them. Let them be happy <3
> 
> I think if I wasn't allowed to do outrageous timeskips id just die /j
> 
> I had things i wanted to write for these chapter notes but now I can't remember so here's a reminder to drink some water <3


End file.
